COMRADES 
IN COURAG 





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COMRADES IN COURAGE 



COMRADES IN 
COURAGE 



(Meditations Dans\ 
La Tranchie ) 



BY 
LIEUTENANT ANTOINE REDIER 

TRANSLATED BY 
MRS. PHILIP DUNCAN WILSON 




GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE ^ COMPANY 
1918 






Copyrighty jqi8, by 
DOUBLEDAY, PaGE & QjMPANY 

All rights reservedy including thai of 

translation into foreign languages, 

including the Scandinavian 



*%' 



MAR -2 1918 

©CI.A492436 



n^ . I 



J TO 

? MY SONS 

so THAT WHEN THEY ARE GROWN 
THEY MAY BE 

HONOURABLE MEN 
STRONG, FREE, AND BRAVE 

A. R. 



TABLE OF CHAPTERS 



PAGE 



I. Duty 3 

IL The Excavators .... 28 

III. Liberty 57 

IV. Comrades IN Arms '^.^^'. . 67 
V. Glory 84 

VI. Larks, Poppies, Mice . . 96 

VII. Strength 127 

VIII. "The God of the Armies" . 138 

IX. Bravery 159 

X. The Enemy 169 

XI. Intelligence 198 

XII. Letters 212 

XIII. Honour 228 

XIV. The Motherland . . . 239 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

I 

Duty 

NEVER in all my life have I heard 
so many foolish words, nor myself 
said so many useless things, as I 
have since my sojourn in the trenches. The 
great danger in which we live forces us to 
seek distraction and we are always striving 
for entertainment. At times my brain 
reels from giddiness, I take my head be- 
tween my hands and anxiously ask myself: 
"What am I doing here for the profit of my 
soul?" 

I am serving my country, it is true. I 
am occupying my appointed place. If I 
should be killed I shall have done my whole 
duty. But how if I survive ? Shall I have 
passed through these solemn moments of 
world history without improvement to 
myself .f^ We are the witnesses and the 
actors in one of the great dramas of hu- 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

manity. In later years many will envy us, 
and perhaps our children will think of us 
as Titans. Yet thoughtlessly we tramp 
these fields of carnage which later will be- 
come the goal of pious pilgrimages. We 
are like our little neighbours, the larks, 
that continue their joyous songs without 
regard for the war. Our sole concession 
to the moment is that occasionally we lower 
our voices if the enemy, who watches oppo- 
site, be near enough to hear. 

Some people will say that this light- 
heartedness in the face of danger is a sign of 
heroism. This is not true. We are able to 
distract ourselves. We could not endure 
our existence if we lacked this precious gift 
of forgetting. But if we have learned to 
shut our eyes at certain times, there are 
other times when it is necessary to look 
with all our power. When the war emerges 
from its present stagnation of trench life, 
we will joyfully look ahead of us. To-day 
our bodies are fast stuck in the mud, and, 
unless we take care, our souls will fall 
asleep. 

To-night I have tried to stimulate mine a 
little by meditation. I meditated upon 
death, and then upon duty. I could easily 



DUTY 

have considered glory, but in the face of 
facts it would have seemed like seducing 
myself with bright words. Out here we 
are exposed every moment to the possi- 
bility of a glorious death, but nevertheless 
it is death; and if, after the war, there re- 
mains an imprint upon my being, it will be 
chiefly this tragic menace which will have 
put it there. 

What does it mean to die on the field of 
honour? Yesterday a poor fellow whom I 
myself had seen wounded, gave up his soul 
at the field hospital. The day before, while 
his wound was being dressed, he was asked 
by the doctor how he felt. He replied, 
with his Flemish accent: '' Min vinte" 
(mon ventre^ my stomach), "my lieutenant/* 
"What's the matter with your stomach?" 
"I have a pain in my stomach." 
His plaintive voice, his childish accent 
will dwell long in my memory. How sad 
it was that he should die, a man of nearly 
forty and the father of a family. His people 
live in the invaded provinces and cannot 
learn of their loss until we have the requi- 
site means and time for communicating 
with them. As he lay dying he did not 
think of himself as a hero, but as a poor 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

devil. He did not go to war for the sake of 
glory. He was merely a unit in the mass, 
and had scarcely seen the enemy with his 
own eyes, yet he lived for months pas- 
sively awaiting an obscure end. His her- 
oism consisted in accepting his destiny with 
resignation. 

We are all like this man. Death upon 
the field of battle is always a horrible ad- 
venture. Those of us who have been in 
the campaign since the beginning have 
seen it too often close at hand to seek it 
carelessly with the joyful light-heartedness 
of that first month of August. There are 
too many bodies heaped on the ground be- 
fore our trenches. We know of too many 
wrecked and ruined homes. We have lost 
too many good comrades who still lack a 
grave — and always will. 

We are told that the Japanese and Ser- 
bians disdain death. I cannot understand 
their mental processes. We are made in a 
different manner, perhaps because our mode 
of life is too easy. Personally, I am unable 
to conceive that one goes to martyrdom 
willingly. Indeed even the greatest mar- 
tyrs have not succeeded in concealing their 
suffering and were not ashamed to call 



DUTY 

heaven to help them in their weakness. 
Yet no one doubts that the quality of their 
hearts was superior to that of most of ours. 
The radiant compensation which God offers 
a believer is not the same that our country- 
holds forth to a soldier who makes the su- 
preme sacrifice for her. The shirkers seek 
employment at the rear or attempt to con- 
ceal themselves in the military depots and 
they are constantly haunted by the fear 
of the pitiless death which awaits them on 
the battlefield. On the other hand, those 
who have gone to the front voluntarily, 
or because it was their turn, cover their 
eyes, and their flesh creeps when they re- 
alize the cruel end before them, but like 
heroes they go forward unfalteringly. 

Is it glory that they seek? I do not be- 
lieve so. Yet I am acquainted with one 
exception. The other day I saw him when 
he paid a visit to some comrades. We 
were gathered in a little dug-out and were 
delighted to see one another. After con- 
versing and joking a bit we began to sing — 
first some very French songs, and then 
someone hummed '^ Die Wacht am Rhein," 
We were startled. We hear them sing it 
opposite in the German trenches every 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

evening. Certainly the refrain is grave 
and melodious, but how sad. How widely 
our race — so alert and frank — is separated 
from theirs, which dreams and laments. 

Finally came the turn of my young friend 
to sing. He hesitated, embarrassed, and 
in spite of his splendid soldierly figure, 
blushed through his tan. The grandson, 
son, nephew, and god-son of celebrated 
French soldiers and sailors, the declaration 
of war had found him at Saint-Cyr. He 
had chosen the cavalry as his branch, but, 
after the first few battles, he saw that in this 
war the cavalry would remain at the rear, 
at least for some time. He therefore asked 
and obtained consent to leave his chosen 
branch, and joined the infantry. It is in this 
miserable hole that he awaits the moment 
of his sacrifice. 

I do not know who is the author of the 
following sonnet, but it is known with- 
out exception to all the students of Saint- 
Cyr. We were deeply moved by hear- 
ing this handsome son of France sing it so 
fervently. His eyes were dilated and he 
did not appear the same warrior as the 
others, but a young god transfigured by a 
celestial vision. 



DUTY 



LA GLOIRE 



Voulant voir si I'ecole etait bien digne d'elle, 

La Gloire, un jour, du ciel descendit a Saint-Cyr. 
On Vy connaissait bien! Ce fut avec plaisir 

Que les Saint-Cyriens re^urent 1' Immortelle. 



Elle les trouva forts. lis la trouverent belle. 
Apres un jour de fete, avant de repartir, 
La Gloire, a tous voulant laisser un souvenir. 



Fixa sur leur schako des plumes de son aile. 
Et Ton porta longtemps le plumet radieux. 
Mais un soir de combat, pres de fermer les yeux, 
Un Saint-Cyrien, mourant, le mit sur sa blessure 



Pour lui donner aussi le bapteme du sang. 
Et, depuis, nous portons — admirable parure — 
Sur notre schako bleu, le plumet rouge et blanc. 



Any man who can sing thus is not dis- 
turbed by thoughts of death. He loves 
glory for itself and he has deliberately 
dedicated his life to it. It is of no impor- 
tance to him that the sacrifice the Mother- 
land demands of her sons is a merciless one. 
He has reached the age when one begins to 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

ponder on human destiny and meets it 
in a defiant attitude, be it good or bad. 
He is able to sacrifice his Hfe freely because 
he has not yet contracted life's responsi- 
bilities. 

The blood which I find on my hands 
when I help raise the wounded, or aid the 
dying, is to me cruel and ghastly. To him 
it is the vermilion blood of heroes of which 
the poets sing. He bathes a plume in it and 
with exaltation wears it on his helmet as a 
token. Unlike him I cannot love glory for 
itself. My business here is the glory of 
France. I work for it with all my strength 
but I do not seek it for myself. My aim 
in the war is to do my duty. Save for rare 
exceptions we do not go valiantly to death 
either because we disdain it, or for the laurels 
that will be thrown on our tombs. We go 
in the spirit of discipline, because it is our 
duty. The first fruit of this slaughter has 
been to give us the long-forgotten knowledge 
of — and desire to do — our duty. The great 
miracle has happened which we so anxiously 
awaited during the uneasy years that pre- 
ceded the war. 

The other day as we lounged in our cave, 
we were aroused by the brusque entrance 

lO 



DUTY 

of an adjudant* who pushed before him two 
soldiers, one of whom was wiping his bleed- 
ing face with a handkerchief. 

"Wounded?" 

''Nothing like it, Captain. They were 
fighting and I brought them to the post to 
explain." 

The man with the bleeding face is what is 
known as a village lawyer. It seems that 
he had said that the " Boches" were as good 
as the French — at which the other had at- 
tacked him. The assailant stands motion- 
less. He is penitent, but his fist was well 
aimed and he is proud that the blow does 
credit to his strength. He feels vaguely 
that, in the war, strength is of great value. 
He admits his crime and only says in excuse : 

*'He is always bothering us with his 
theories. I wanted to give him a lesson 
and didn't think that a single punch would 
hurt him." 

"Did you intend to give him several?" 

"I only intended to make him shut up, 
sir." 

At this the other man takes a step for- 
ward: 



*The French "adjudant" corresponds to a first sergeant in the 
American Army. 

II 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

"I'd like to see you make me shut up!" 

He is a queer figure of a man. His face 
is thin and already shows the traces of age. 
His figure is frail and bowed, his manner 
abject but cunning, and he talks in a preten- 
tious tone with many gestures : 

"A man ought to have rights, even here." 

"You have the right to kill a Boche, old 
grandmother!" 

*'Be silent; you struck him. Let him 
speak." 

"My Captain," begins the other, "if you 
let these young fellows act like this, it means 
a revolution in the trenches. At least, I can 
understand that we ought not to quarrel 
because, after all, we are here only to share 
the same miserable fate." 

"We are here for France," the adjudant 
cries at him, rolling his eyes in a terrible 
manner. 

"Come," says the Captain, wishing to 
close the incidfent, "shake hands and go 
back to your places." 

As the men go out I turn curiously toward 
the adjudant who will not permit anybody 
to say that his lot here is a miserable one. 

"You have been hard on the old man." 

"It is his own fault if I have. I know 

12 



DUTY 

these lawyers, they are always thinking of 
their rights, never of their duties." 

He goes on with his theme, enlarging the 
scope of his discussion. He paints for us in 
bold but truthful colours a picture of average 
French society in the villages and country- 
side before the war. Although, in peace 
time, a man of humble situation, a modest 
shopkeeper on the public square of a small 
county-seat, his observation and judgment 
are excellent. His type demonstrates how 
well true wisdom will always be preserved 
among the common people. After escaping 
the snares of life, morality to them is repre- 
sented by what they remember of their 
early religious instruction. 

He goes on to tell how these heroes, who 
to-day are ready to die with a firm heart, 
faced duty as civilians in time of peace. 
His exact words are not necessary; his 
meaning will suffice. 

First he tells us the programme for an 
honest man of the working class in the cities : 
Know your craft well enough to do it with 
pleasure; have simple tastes that you may 
be able to satisfy them fully; raise good 
children in the affection of whom you may 
find a refuge in the great hours of life. 

13 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Our citizens, however, have substituted 
what they consider a better programme: 
Work as little as possible because it is 
fatiguing; on the other hand, demand as high 
wages as possible because it is good to feel 
the coins jingling in one's pocket. Spend 
your money upon yourself alone and, for 
that reason, have no children. Insist upon 
your right to live your own life, to seek 
pleasure always, to loaf and to spoil every- 
thing, including your work, yourself, your 
family, and your country. As for duty, 
don't consider it ! 

Second, the country people: they are still 
economical and hard working like their 
fathers, but with a greed which in them takes 
the place of every virtue. Unlike true sons 
of the soil they are incapable of working 
for the sake of posterity and, for example, 
never plant trees because the profit to be 
derived from them is too distant. On the 
contrary, they cut down those planted by 
their ancestors in order that their children 
may have money to spend in the city. They 
have neither religious faith nor respect 
for womanhood. They never sit down for 
a moment of quiet rest at home. They are 
simply beasts of burden, and if you talk 



DUTY 

of duty, these born slaves who voluntarily 
accept the vilest servitude, will laugh sar- 
castically and tell you that they are free 
men and do not want to be bound by moral 
laws. 

Of the upper classes, represented to him 
by his officers, our critic says nothing, but 
it is easy for me to continue his thought. 
Aristocrats, bourgeois, people of position, 
all those that we arbitrarily call the govern- 
ing class, what is their real value? The 
majority of the men are pleasure-seekers, 
elbowing themselves forward in search of 
some slight advantage, and the women 
merely dolls. The former gain wealth, it 
does not matter how, and their compan- 
ions dissipate it in thin air. When it 
becomes a question of public good, toward 
which they should have the most sacred 
ideas of duty since it concerns everybody, 
one finds these people either utterly in- 
different or calculating. It is proverbial 
that the masses never elevate the wisest to 
power. With us at times it seems as if they 
actually chose the least worthy in order 
to prevent domination. To be sure one 
gets a servant of the people in this fashion, 
but it is our country that pays. 

IS 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Come, join me in the trenches and then 
look at these workmen, these country 

?eopIe, these middle- and upper-class men. 
'here they stand in front of us, gun in 
hand, half buried in the mud. This time 
they are doing their duty, and all of them 
at the same time. What are they thinking 
about? The war has changed them pro- 
foundly. It has made good soldiers of them 
as well as good men. Will the miracle last 
forever? 

The adjudant says yes. I do not agree. 
I do not think that we shall necessarily be 
better when we return to our homes, but I 
think we shall be in a condition to become 
better, that is the important thing. Force 
has restored to us the right notion of duty. 
It has not yet definitely established us in the 
habit of well doing, but it will make us apt 
to follow if we are shown new ways. The 
eternal truths will be explained by new 
masters. Prophets will raise themselves 
against the preachers of revolution and the 
doctrines of the sovereign rights of the 
individual, and this time their voices will 
be heard. These intellectual leaders of a 
wiser France exist at present, but they are 
almost alone in the desert. The war will 

i6 



DUTY 

have increased the courage and power of 
those who survive. My vision pierces the 
walls of this trench shelter in which I sit, 
and I perceive in the distance the era that is 
coming, when they will find willing listeners, 
not only among the intellectual elite — a 
majority of whom has already been with 
them for a long time — but even in the 
hearts of our most distant villagers. 

It is the same with people as with chil- 
dren. It does not suffice to show them the 
right path, it is necessary actually to lead 
them by the hand. Precepts without the 
proof of experience are vain. After the 
harsh trials of this war the lessons of the 
wise will be understood. We shall have 
weighed in particular the worth of two 
words, until now very unjustly valued. 
Formerly we wrote the word "Duty'' with 
a capital, but contented ourselves with its 
abstract contemplation. On the other hand, 
we claimed an enormous number of rights. 
The war has taught us to reverse these 
words. I recognize in "Right" our safe- 
guard against all, but I see before me each 
day — each hour — an enormous number of 
duties. 

Right and duty, if we are able to neglect 

17 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

reality itself — that is to say human frailties 
and weaknesses — ^would be deserving of 
equal honour, for they correspond and 
link together naturally. But in fact the 
word "right'' is a dangerous word, full of 
temptation and injustice when put in the 
mouths of the masses. Here among us it 
has been put to flight by the whistle of the 
shells. 

Indeed there is no doctrine of social 
revolution,no fomenter of disorder and trou- 
ble, which does not find contradiction each 
day in our trenches. For example : equality, 
that renowned right of each to be equal to 
everyone else, the attainment of which is 
often accomplished only by envy, hatred, 
and destruction of everything. Here in the 
field, concerning equality we only know our 
common wretchedness in meeting death, 
which unceasingly strikes without regard to 
rank or worth. If you are jealous of your 
fellowmen, if you desire to be treated 
equally with them, come up here to this 
"fire-trench'' where injustice is unknown, 
where no one is too proud to seek protection 
when he hears the whistle of an approaching 
shell, where the most that anyone can offer 
is a few inches of mortal flesh to the German 

i8 



DUTY 

lead. Equality under fire? Surely; but 
for the rest, each man has a different rank, 
according to his merit. It is necessary 
to send out a party for patrol to-night. 
Who will volunteer? Ten men step for- 
ward. From that moment these men are 
the acknowledged superiors of the others 
in the ranks. Inequality, Respect; two 
new ideas to our people, but we will accus- 
tom ourselves to them. 

In civil life one may obtain almost every 
privilege by the power of money. Here 
at the front money is of no value. The 
prestige of glory has replaced that of gold. 
Admiration of others, which elevates the 
soul, has been substituted for envy which 
degrades it. The divine joys and honours 
to be gained from the war are proportionate 
to the degree of individual valour, intelli- 
gence, physical strength, devotion, and hero- 
ism. According to your merit you will 
win these rewards amidst the ungrudging 
applause of your comrades. The same men 
who, in the democracy of peace, were at one 
another's throats, here become comrades 
in the fray. Loyalty, good humour, and 
confidence have been reestablished by the 
brotherhood of arms. Laughter, that splen- 

19 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

did sign of physical and moral health, reigns 
supreme amidst all the degrees of the regi- 
mental hierarchy. Hatred subsides, and 
even religion receives the homage that is its 
due. 

It IS as if a magic wand had been used 
to set everything right. Formerly we were 
surfeited with sensations, and our chief 
forces were expended in the pursuit of 
pleasure. Now the best part of our time 
is spent in digging ditches, no matter 
whether it rain or shine, and the sole privi- 
lege accorded us is that we may choose either 
a pick which loosens the earth, or a shovel 
which throws it aside. Previously we needed 
a thousand comforts, yet now, for so many 
months that we can hardly remember the 
number, we have slept with the mice, either 
upon bare ground or straw. Best of all, 
we do it with a song upon our lips, and 
when the hour comes for repose we enjoy 
triumphant slumbers. 

In reviving national hatred, the enemy- 
has united both our living and our dead. 
Tradition, which formerly was ridiculed, 
has taken for us a new grandeur and beauty. 
Republican ministers, who formerly re- 
membered the history of France no further 

20 



DUTY 

back than 1793, since the war, have re- 
peatedly and solemnly inspired their lis- 
teners by calling upon such monarchical 
names as Saint-Louis, Du Guesclin, and 
Jeanne d'Arc. We used to mock at au- 
thority, order and discipline, but since the 
outbreak of the war we have seen that 
Germany, with the aid of these same in- 
struments, almost succeeded in defeating us. 
Now we have the satisfaction that comes 
from doing our duty. The duty is an evi- 
dent one and we enjoy the sensation of see- 
ing our way clearly. In fulfilling our 
glorious mission we find such joys that we 
wish to publish them to the winds. 

What shall we say when we return to our 
homes after the war? Some will be dis- 
agreeable boasters. Others will be more 
modest, but nevertheless will desire that 
the trials they have borne so valiantly 
be appreciated at their true value and that 
no one dispute the character and the 
beauty of their sacrifice. Inculcated with 
the supreme value of devotion to their 
country, they will insist that those about 
them profess the same cult. They will 
demand praise, not for themselves, but 
for the virtues they have practised, and 

21 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

this will make two or three million in- 
structors in duty in our towns and villages. 

So all of us who daily look upon the face 
of Death and school ourselves to regard its 
redoubtable figure unwinkingly; all of us 
who survive, will return from the field of 
honour with the habitude and pride of 
service. 

Assuredly duties will not be so simple in 
time of peace as in time of war. We shall 
often find them even more difficult on ac- 
count of their obscurity. We shall be assisted 
at that time by the wonderful recollections 
of our days of glory. One does not always 
adopt heroism with good grace, for it implies 
not only a passive readiness to accept death, 
to remain day and night for hionths under 
its constant menace, but also the active seek- 
ing of it in moments of dreadful violence, 
approaching it with a song on the lips, and 
hailing its coming with exaltation — not for 
the sake of glory but because it is what one 
ought to do. After all, it does not matter 
how much of resignation enters into the 
spirit of willingness in which one makes the 
sacrifice. 

I remember in the month of September, 
shortly after the Battle of the Marne, a 

22 



DUTY 

general came to inspect the regimental 
aepot of the territorial army in the region 
where I was stationed. His mission was 
particularly to examine the officers and to 
obtain an estimate of their spirit. He had 
left the battlefield where he had just re- 
ceived his promotion to his present rank 
only a few hours earlier. The fumes of 
powder still lingered about him. He 
walked down the line of non-commissioned 
officers on parade in the courtyard and to 
each put this question: 

"Do you request to be sent to the front?" 

" I am ready to go when my turn comes, 
sir," these warriors invariably replied. 

"Bah!" said the great chief, "you speak 
like cowards." 

This remark roused great feeling among 
those poor devils. They had not compre- 
hended the correct sense of duty in the 
opportunity that was offered them of con- 
tributing in a more active manner to the 
national safety. The right to await their 
turn, that was their idea. Little by little 
these same men have left their "depot," 
are serving to-day in the trenches, and con- 
ducting themselves well. Many times they 
have gaily endured nameless suffering. 

23 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

They go where they are told, and reflect no 
farther. It is not absolutely necessary that 
the law be understood so long as it is recog- 
nized and obeyed. They are the mass and 
follow their leaders. 

Among these leaders I find two types: 
First, the fiery soldier who is actuated by 
his love for France. He has an understand- 
ing of the different degrees of obligation and, 
no matter how tenderly he cherishes his 
home, his country comes first. A certain 
group of characteristics is common to each 
member of this class. A man of this type 
always serves the public interest before his 
own, even when, unlike the present time, the 
duty is not such an important one. With 
such a mentality, a man is always a fer- 
vent student of history and politics. He 
knows the past of his country and reveres 
all its glories. He seriously considers its 
present destiny and the men who are its 
guardians. When war comes it is a personal 
affair. I love this type, which is common 
enough, and it is toward it that by nature 
I most readily incline. I do not feel that I 
deserve great merit in doing my duty as a 
soldier, but if it were not for that wonderful 
vision of France which sustains and ani- 

24 



DUTY 

mates me, I think I should be greatly de- 
serving of it. When I hear people say that 
our frontier will be extended to the Rhine, 
I am filled with a profound joy as if those 
lost provinces were to be returned to me in 
person. Inspired by such thoughts it is not 
difficult to give my soul to my country, 
and when it shall be necessary I will also 
give my body. 

I do not know whether the second type 
is more rare; at any rate, I find it infinitely 
attractive. Among my companions there 
is one who personifies it in a charming 
manner. You may see him sauntering 
along the trench in his heavy boots, a tall 
youth with his coat hanging open and an 
old military cap perched upon a thick shock 
of flaxen hair. With his abrupt gestures 
and boisterous manner you would think him 
too bad a character ever to have become 
even a corporal. He meets some of the 
men; I can't hear what he says to them, 
but they leave him with a hearty burst of 
laughter. One of them shouts : 

"My Lieutenant, you always make us 
laugh." 

Yes, he is a lieutenant, this soldier so 
young, so thin, so merry. He has even 

25 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

commanded his company since that sad 
day in September, 1914, when his captain 
was killed. His face is pleasingly frank 
and with a nose as big as was that of Henry 
IV, and there is a fine down straggling upon 
his lip. He blushes like a girl, in spite of a 
fiery voice. His angers are short-lived; 
he gesticulates, and his laugh is never- 
ceasing. He is attending to his country's 
business here with all his heart, but his 
eyes are not dazzled like mine by the capti- 
vating image of France. He sees another 
more austere to whose cult he devotes his 
fervour; that of duty. When he left his 
mother in tears he did not argue about the 
origin and the consequences of the war, 
nor was he consoled by the thought of a 
triumphant revenge; an honest man in all 
the acts of his life, he was that day honest as 
usual. The law commanded him to be a 
soldier; he obeyed and went. The sacrifice 
was hard, consequently of rare value. 
Shame to the coward who would attempt 
to depreciate it. 

The men who have come among us, more 
or less willingly, in the end become accus- 
tomed to think like their chiefs. According 
to his character, each man chooses one or 

26 



DUTY 

the other type as his model. They are 
benefited, so are we, and all is well. 

Before the month of August 19 14 I often 
asked myself whether we should ever ex- 
perience these noble joys which are so 
necessary to stimulate mankind. The war 
has brought them all to us. 

Behold ! I am able to return to the ban- 
alities of the present which, as I began this 
train of thought, made me feel that I was 
witness to a sacrilege. I can remain care- 
free even while watching the enemy. I am 
improving without knowing it and the 
brave men around me are doing the 
same. However, should Glory, of whom I 
ask nothing personally, come some evening 
of battle to crown one of us with her light, I 
shall bless the beautiful visitor and ask 
her to pardon me because to-night in my 
trench I have preferred, to her radiant face, 
one graver and less accustomed to the smiles 
of men : that of duty. 



27 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 



II 

Hhe Excavators 

COME, Monsieur le territorial^ we 
must hurry!" 
It is night, the rain is falling. 
The commandant brandishes his stick and 
with it taps the shoulder of a large man who 
hesitates in front of a ditch. At this stimu- 
lus the soldier jumps across and tumbles 
on the other side, face forward in the mud. 
Awkwardly he picks up his shovel, his 
woollen muffler, and his blanket. He strug- 
gles to his feet, takes a step, and is at once 
lost to sight in the darkness. Another fol- 
lows and takes the same formidable jump. 

For ^ long time I have been watching 
them from the bottom of the hoyau which 
they are crossing. They are a company 
of territorials from the south of France, 
the ''Midi!' To-night they are to make a 
new system of fortifications in front of our 



THE EXCAVATORS 

trenches. Already the patrols are out in 
front, well forward, to protect the work- 
ing party. A section of engineers has come 
to trace out and execute the more technical 
part, the actual excavation will be done 
by these old men who are slowly and awk- 
wardly trying to jump the ditch under 
the watchful eye of the commandant. 

Commandant V is a gallant gentle- 
man and I have no fear that his cane did 
more than caress the shoulder of that citizen 
from Beziers. But it is not a moment for 
gentleness. It is all in the day's work, 
and the Germans are only a few yards 
away. It is annoying to have these old 
men make so much trouble about such a 
trifle as jumping from one bank of earth 
to another! But the poor fellows can 
do no better. 

Theirs is a hard duty. What can they 
do in this young men's war.? Renew their 
youth perhaps. I know some who, in spite 
of their forty years, have the hearts of ado- 
lescents. But others come, dragging limbs 
which are heavy and numb, and with souls 
that are fast asleep. Before the war they 
were living among their vineyards in distant 
sunlit provinces. Here is one, for example, 

29 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 
who kept a shop and who was comfortably 
growing prosperous. Here is another who 
was a man of reputation in his village and 
who won renown by his skilful play at 
manille* Now they spend their nights 
in the mud and their hours of repose on the 
straw behind the lines. Their work, like that 
of criminals, commences only when the night 
has fallen and they never labour by light 
of day. No more golden wine in tinkling 
glasses; they now take their liquor at one 
gulp, shudder, and talk of something else. 
For tools they have their choice between 
shovel and pick. To be sure, each one has 
his gun, but for months it has been of use 
only as an extra burden upon his back. 

To-night I cannot help pitying them a 
little. The rain is falling in torrents; one 
can hardly see two paces ahead. I have 
been able to see their attitudes — funny or 
pitiful — only because from below the muggy 
sky forms a background. 

But the picture changes, the last terri- 
torial has crossed the opening, and I see 
above me two shadows of a different type. 
They are the officers wrapped in their 



*Manille is a game played with cards. 
30 



THE EXCAVATORS 

waterproofs. I recognize the Commandant 
by his erect figure, his brusque utterance, 
and his precise gestures. He is speaking 
in a low tone, but his voice has lost none of 
its warmth: 

*'Mon petity do your work quickly, but 
do it well ; and don't forget that I shall be 
interested in watching you." 

I cannot recognize the other, but he seems 
very young. Suddenly a German star shell 
shoots up and bursts into light. Doubtless 
the men exposed in the open have thrown 
themselves flat on the ground for conceal- 
ment, but these officers absorbed in their 
conversation remain standing. I distin- 
guish the features of the second man. His 
face is thin and clean shaven. Glasses 
surmount a small, straight nose with smiling 
lips beneath. Frankness and intelligence 
are written on his forehead and energy at 
the point of his chin. 

At the sight of this graceful figure I forget 
for an instant the war and its miseries. I 
can picture this youth at the annual ball 
of the Polytechnique^ extending the courtesies 
of the school to some pretty Parisienne 
in exactly the same graceful manner as 
that with which he now converses with his 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

chief. As an officer of engineers it is his 
duty to go out in the open in front of our 
lines and at the risk of his life, to super- 
vise this work. He is bearing two grave 
responsibilities which disquiet him much 
more than the thought of his personal 
danger: first, the execution of his task and, 
secondly, the safeguarding of the lives of 
all those older men. 

In speaking of this young officer of whose 
fate I am ignorant I would like to mention 
the admiration that we soldiers of the in- 
fantry feel for our comrades of the engi- 
neers. They form a magnificent branch of 
the army service; their work is always for 
others and is accomplished often at the cost 
of suffering and terrific loss without the re- 
deeming feature of the ability to fight back. 
They die while bridging a stream that the 
infantry may push forward in the direc- 
tion of glory. We boast of being at the 
front, but they carry the war even in ad- 
vance of the front. It is useless to classify 
merit for every man here is doing his best, 
but these engineer-soldiers are wonderful 
examples of fearlessness. Their entire army 
of carpenters, locksmiths, mechanicians, 
and wheelwrights exercises its various crafts 

3^ 



THE EXCAVATORS 

under fire with admirable deliberation. I 
would also like that a part of the nation's 
gratitude should go to those good territorials 
who, although the post was not one of 
their seeking, have certainly become the 
faithful auxiliaries of the engineers. 

Trench warfare has condemned us all to 
the work of digging. We are the foremen of 
labour gangs and our soldiers merely labour- 
ers. Still, we of the active branches of the 
service have the joy of guarding our pits as 
soldiers, once these pits are completed. On 
the other hand, the territorials dig trenches 
and go away. In the early days of the 
war entire regiments of the territorial army 
were employed in the burial of the dead — 
men and horses. Now they dig ditches for 
the living. Is it any more pleasant? 

To-night they are really having their 
troubles. It is humiliating to be required to 
run and jump, fall quickly on one's stomach, 
and get up without showing one's stiffness 
when a man is beginning to feel his advanc- 
ing years. To dig a ditch is one thing, but to 
get out of it with agility is another. The eyes 
of these men are no longer like those of boys 
of twenty, nor are their hearts like those of 
the youngsters of the class of "15" who 

33 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

despise death. On such an inky night as 
this they are uneasy. Where are the 
Boches ? Are they not Hkely to shoot from 
such close range? The more youthful 
soldiers who are doing guard duty guess 
at their anxieties and have a little sport at 
their expense: 

"'You know, old man, this is a pretty 
dangerous spot!" 

"Are they near?" 

"Who?" 

"The Boches." 

"Don't worry about the Boches, they are 
at least thirty metres from here." 

"Thirty metres! Impossible!" 

The old man is horrified, but all the same 
a secret pride takes possession of him. 
When he goes back home he will be able 
to say that he has worked within thirty 
metres of the Germans. Half trembling 
and half content, he resumes his digging 
and wallowing in the mud. 

As for my men and me, we certainly did 
not come to fight with shovels, but we have 
gaily accepted our unexpected destiny. We 
are in love with duty; we welcome it, no 
matter what form it takes. 

One is surprised, however, to find how 

34 



THE EXCAVATORS 

much joy one gets in digging a really good 
trench. I will tell you about one, a master- 
piece, of which we were truly proud. I will 
try to be modest but without promising to 
succeed. 

We were ordered to trace in front of the 
trench which my section occupied, a gallery 
one hundred and fifty metres in length, 
extending from our line straight toward the 
Boches. What is it for? That was a mys- 
tery. Two days later we were to learn that 
it was the route for an attack. That evening 
my mind was obsessed with one idea : to ad- 
vance a trench one hundred and fifty metres 
in a perfectly straight line. The words 
"perfectly straight'' amazed me. I ran 
to the telephone: 

"Hello! Commandant, must the line be 
perfectly straight?" 

"Yes, absolutely. Hurry, for you must 
finish in two nights." 

We had, at this point, a completed section 
of trench forty metres long leading forward 
to a listening post. After a consultation 
with my officers we decided to utilize this 
and extend it one hundred and ten metres 
farther. We climbed out of the trench 
and started off toward the German line, 

35 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

counting the paces. We experienced an 
emotion different from those we usually feel 
when out on skirmishing or patrol duty. 
At such a time a man is waging war, he can 
use prudence or aggression, can reconnoitre 
and retreat. This night we were going 
out into the unknown much as Christopher 
Columbus went toward America. Only a 
few days earlier our trenches had been 
pushed forward and we did not as yet have 
definite information as to the distance 
separating us from the enemy. We had 
the feeling that we might, at any moment, 
run into his barbed-wire entanglements. 

As we advanced, I posted my two com- 
panions at different points to make my 
return easier, and I counted off the last 
forty paces alone. I had a curious feeling. 
There was absolutely no noise, and the dark- 
ness was so complete that I could not even 
tell where to place my feet. Suppose the 
Germans had heard us and prepared an 
ambuscade! I might run against them or 
actually tread upon their bodies! When 
at last I had measured what seemed to me 
to be the hundred and ten paces, I added 
two more, either for the sake of my 
conscience or purely in bravado — I do not 

36 



THE EXCAVATORS 

know which — and stuck my cane into the 
ground. 

From that moment this was conquered 
ground. To win it, it had been necessary 
to master an emotion. All of us would now 
be able to walk along this line without a 
thought of danger. That danger still ex- 
isted, still was great, but no longer would we 
be conscious of it. 

But how were we to make our line straight .? 
You would doubtless say: Stretch a cord 
and follow it. The problem, however, was 
not so simple. Forty metres of our line 
were already traced and dug. If my cord 
commenced at the end of this completed 
portion I would have two straight elements, 
but they would almost certainly be angu- 
lated at their junction. You would then 
perhaps tell me to start my cord near the 
beginning of the completed trench. Wise 
words, but my cord was too short ! I had 
never studied surveying but had often seen 
the red-and-white stakes used in that work. 
Surveyors place two stakes in the desired 
direction and then project a third one by 
sighting over the two already placed. A 
long line may be made quite as straight in 
this manner as with the best-stretched cord. 

37 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

I had no stakes, but I had men who might 
be substituted for them. My eye could 
not pierce no metres of the inky darkness, 
but I was able to see two paces ahead. I 
therefore posted some men two paces apart 
and in a line which pointed in the right 
direction. By lying down and looking up- 
ward, with the sky as a background, I could 
see a part of the line which their motionless 
figures made. When this was absolutely 
straight, two men ran along to the right and 
left of the file and marked the two sides of 
the trench. In this way the line was com- 
pleted, and the work of excavation begun. 

It is in times like these that one gets an 
insight into the characters of the men. For 
the most advanced positions we called for 
volunteers. These were the best workers. 
Farther back one found the slackers who 
were continually resting with their arms 
crossed on the handles of their spades. Those 
who were afraid showed it by commencing to 
dig furiously the moment they had reached 
their assigned position in order to make a 
hole to shelter themselves. Once protected, 
their ardour slackened visibly, for they 
knew that when they had finished their 
portion they would be asked to recommence 

38 



THE EXCAVATORS 

farther forward and thus expose their 
precious skin anew. Finally there were 
the talkative ones whom even proximity 
to the Germans could not repress : 

"My old woman would have a fright if 
she could see me here!" 

" Keep quiet." 

"What's the matter? You don't think 
I am afraid of the Boches, do you?" 

"Shut up, I tell you." 

"It would take more than them to scare 
me." 

It is no use trying to stop that good 
fellow. He says something, spits on his 
hands, says something more, and so on. 
Little by little, while he chatters and works, 
the trench takes shape, deepens, and is 
finished. Let them send up as many illu- 
minating rockets as they please, we no 
longer have to bend forward to conceal 
ourselves and the trick is won. 

At 2 A. M. I sent my men off to lie down, 
but I remained waiting for daybreak. 
I wished to know whether my line was 
straight. I found one of my sergeants 
had also remained and was busily examining 
the trench. 

"Why did you stay?" I asked him. 

39 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

*'For no special reason." 

"Did you want to see whether the trench 
was straight?" 

'* Perhaps, sir." 

He was a big youth of the tenacious type. 
He had been working on this trench in the 
same way in which he makes aluminium 
rings from the fuse caps of German shells. 
He works at them with all his heart and 
never lets up until they are finished and a 
credit to him. 

When at last the day came I tasted one 
of the purest joys of my life. Each of us, 
in turn, sighted from the entrance of the 
boyau and found that we could see from 
one extremity to the other without moving 
and that a bullet fired from a rifle would go 
through from end to end. Five minutes later 
I was dreaming like a king upon my straw. 

The war has given us simple tastes and 
rendered our ambitions modest by bridging 
over many centuries and taking us back 
to the age of the cave-dwellers. With the 
hardest of heart-breaking work we have 
had to defend our trenches and shelters, 
not only against the attacks of man, but 
also against the violence of Nature. We 
have borne it all without a thought of 

40 



THE EXCAVATORS 

despair and almost without complaint. 
We shall cease to endure only if, after the 
war, pseudo philosophers again begin teach- 
ing lazy people to regard pleasure and 
luxury as their supreme goal. If we gave 
the right to live and the right to happiness 
to a new generation composed only of idlers, 
we should be insulting our dead and our 
own past sufferings. 

In the middle of December, 1914, it was 
not a question of our rights. Only a few 
days earlier, after a severe bombardment, 
the Germans had taken us by surprise and 
destroyed a part of our trenches. We 
promptly chased them out again and were 
awaiting a second attack when a new 
enemy appeared in the form of rain. 

I remember the night-watch in the offi- 
cers' post. The captain was sleeping on 
the ground on a bundle of damp straw. 
At his feet lay his orderly, Joseph. He was 
a perfect type of faithful servant and 
always slept thus with his head pillowed 
on his master's legs. They were snoring 
peacefully, a shapeless heap over which we 
tried not to stumble. Reclining on some 
empty sacks was the guard, telling stories 
of his own part of the country to a scoffing 

41 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

lad who was fastening some tent canvas to 
the ceiHng to prevent a leak. Another 
lieutenant and I were seated upon the same 
plank. The rain was beating down vio- 
lently outside, while inside the cold water 
was dripping treacherously down upon our 
backs. Six men in all, we filled this 
wretched hole so completely that a mouse 
scarcely could have passed between us. 

For two hours it had been raining. It 
was my duty and that of my friend to 
go alternately to the trench. In those days 
we did not enjoy the luxury of waterproofs, 
nor did we have pocket-lamps. We had 
gone to war without thinking of such things. 

When my turn came I went to chat a little 
with the lookouts. I found them drenched 
to the skin. Since that time we have 
undergone both longer and stronger rains, 
but never have we seen so much water. 
From midnight to midnight, for twenty-four 
whole hours, we had to watch the caving in 
of the ground about us, and finally the 
destruction of our trenches. In order to 
escape, for a moment, from the mud — in 
which we sank to our ankles and in certain 
spots up to our knees — I climbed up onto 
the field behind the line and tried to clean 

42 



THE EXCAVATORS 

my clogged shoes in the damp grass. The 
day before a large pit had been dug there, 
in which we had intended to instal our 
Headquarters staff. It had not been 
covered and I wanted to see what remained 
of it. I climbed down and found it full 
of water save for an elevation in one corner 
intended to serve as a bed. 

I was sitting sadly upon an old box when, 
suddenly, I felt a warm breath on my cheek. 
A great black shape had emerged from the 
shadows. It proved to be a large, silent 
dog, soaked through and through, who 
thrust his muzzle in my ear. He was very 
unhappy, but no more than I. When I 
petted him, it was like touching a wet 
sponge in a bucket of tepid water. I moved 
away; he followed me. Never have I been 
more impressed than by the precautions 
that animal took to keep from making 
any noise. There are dogs who bay at 
the moon and howl at death. The throat 
of this one must have been choked by the 
universal mourning. He went down with 
me into the trench where I heard him 
splashing in the water behind me and 
panting mournfully. I managed to per- 
suade him to curl up against Joseph, but in 

43 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

the morning I was told that he had disap- 
peared Hke a ghost. 

I heard of the fate of our shelter and of its 
inhabitants the next day from someone else. 
My friend and I, in the meantime, were busily 
occupied with the men. We felt we could 
set them a good example, even if we were 
powerless to help in any other way. We 
learned, however, that at four o'clock in the 
morning the roof of our post had caved in 
on top of the captain. The poor man, who 
was already old, had managed after much 
difficulty to reach the shelter of a non- 
commissioned officer. He was sent to the 
rear some days later. As for the faithful 
Joseph, he had remained to watch the sup- 
plies all that day and night resolving, 
partly from devotion, partly from fear, 
to die in that swamp rather than to cross 
the surrounding quagmire which the evening 
before we had so proudly called *7^ boyau de 
commandement;'* '^le poste des agents de 
liaisons;'^ "/<f poste telephonique," He 
neither ate nor moved until the following 
night when we were relieved, and then it was 
necessary to assist him behind the lines. 

Now commenced a series of trials in which 
the men showed a truly heroic resignation. 

44 



THE EXCAVATORS 

Their rifles had been left in various dugouts 
and when the men went to hunt for them 
there was so much mud, in what remained of 
the trenches, that they had to take off their 
shoes and roll up their trousers to their 
thighs. That was a novelty and they 
laughed. But when, after donning their 
equipment preparatory to going to rest bil- 
lets in the neighbouring village, the company 
was unexpectedly ordered to remain in the 
second line, the men felt more like weeping. 
They were willing to spend fifty days in 
the trenches if so ordered, but it was a sore 
trial when, actually on the way back to 
cantonment, they learned that there had 
been a counter order and that they would 
once again have to choose between remaining 
outside in the drenching rain, or lying down, 
soaked to the skin, in a freezing cave filled 
with mud. The poor fellows spent their night 
huddled against bare trees, which at this 
stage of the war had not yet been levelled. 

The next day some forty of them were 
working on a neighbouring road using their 
shovels to repair the damage done by the 
flood, when there came the whistle of a shell 
falling right in their midst. They all threw 
themselves flat on the ground. I was fifteen 

45 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

metres away and when I got up again I saw 
them all dispersing like a flock of fright- 
ened sparrows. In a moment they had dis- 
appeared into the trench, all save four who 
were dragging themselves along the ground. 
We ran to them and found them seriously 
but not mortally wounded. 

Yet that night, when marching back to the 
rear, do you think the men spoke of the rain, 
of the sufferings they had endured ? Of them 
never a word; but someone remarked that 
if a French 75-millimetre shell had fallen 
in the same way as the enemy shell, it would 
have killed at least forty men, and they made 
fun of the Germans. 

When we came back, four days later, we 
found the trench entirely rebuilt. Our com- 
rades had done their work well. 

Such misfortunes would not happen to us 
to-day. Now we have drains in the boyauXy 
linings along the firing parapets, and solidly 
built shelters. The labour necessary to 
bring about these results was enormous. 

At first we had only a firing trench and 
along it each of us dug a hole for himself, as 
best he could, in which he might try to sleep. 
Later on another trench was built parallel to 
the first and connected by a small boyau, 

46 



THE EXCAVATORS 

To right and left, in this second trench 
which resembled a street, were the caves in 
which we installed ourselves. We gave all 
sorts of names to these compartments — 
^'cagnay^ ^'gourbi,'' '^guitoune," etc. Officially 
they are known as abris (shelters). 

Communication with this double line of 
trenches was possible only at night. Next, 
the great boyaux were invented which al- 
lowed complete communication between the 
first line and the rear in broad daylight. 
To-day these are numerous and intersect 
like the streets of a city. These streets 
were given names such as ^^ Boyau of the 
Rats"; ''Boyau of the Germans''; ^'Boyau 
Castlenau" because otherwise it would be 
hopeless to try and find one's way among 
these paths which look exactly alike. If there 
was an inn, a grocery store, or a pharmacy 
at this or that corner, it would be simple. 
But one still goes astray, although the names 
are placarded everywhere. 

I wonder whether it will ever be possible 
to estimate the labour represented by such 
works of excavation. If our men have 
found security or repose in their subter- 
ranean houses, they have fully earned the 
right to enjoy them. 

47 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

To-day it is in the architecture of the 
gourbis that we excel. There are two 
schools: those who advocate the cave dug 
in the side of the wall and those who pre- 
fer the built-up shelter. 

The dugouts had to be prohibited at one 
time in a certain region, because they were 
always caving in. Here where we are, on 
the contrary they are recommended, but 
must be very deep and timbered. We have 
in our ranks miners from Pas-de-Calais who 
construct them. 

At first the shelters were badly covered. 
An old door and a little earth sufficed; we 
were not difficult to please. If a man had a 
few branches and a tent canvas over his 
head, he felt that he could play manille 
in absolute security. If a shell burst, he 
answered it by throwing down a trump. 
Many were killed in this manner, in gourbis 
covered only with canvas and wood. Little 
by little the number of shell-proof shelters 
increased and now our men spend the major 
part of their time in bringing up from the 
rear enormous wooden beams to be placed 
in numerous and compact layers on the 
roofs of our shelters. 

All this does not resemble the stories 

48 



THE EXCAVATORS 

which are written about this war. If you 
prefer to hear about deeds of valour, let 
others relate them. After peace is declared 
we will feast on glory while reviving the 
memories that we are now accumulating. 
My present object is to pay tribute to the 
intrepidity of the troops, even in the most 
modest instances, and to analyze the lesson 
that each of us will learn from our great hour 
of trial. Whatever our rank, our education, 
or our especial science, we have all become 
excavators or burden-bearers. At the bar- 
racks the men used to complain because 
they were set to work peeling potatoes. 
Here the potatoes are peeled by cooks, but 
as soon as the men return from the observa- 
tion post and unload their rifles, they must 
lay aside their proud role of guardians of 
France and march off with enormous tim- 
bers upon their shoulders, their heads bowed 
and their faces covered with perspiration, 
more like convicts than like soldiers. Pride 
must be strengthened with muscle. Night 
and day we must resign ourselves to a kind 
of labour which would be considered de- 
grading in civil life. But it is our duty. 
The humblest tasks are ennobled by virtue 
of this magical word which we had for- 

49 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

gotten and which the war has taught us 
once more. 

Proof of this is found in the gladness of our 
hearts. We find joy in the smallest things 
and we laugh incessantly. I do not mean 
to say there are no desirable joys in peace, 
but we had become satiated with enjoyment 
like rich children who have too many toys 
within their grasp. This is a school of 
suffering and we learn to content ourselves 
with little. This corporal who has made an 
excellent saw out of an old clock-spring 
found in the ruins of a village, and who 
uses it to make rings from the aluminium 
shell-fuses, is happier now with his im- 
provised tool than when he used his leisure 
time in running from cabaret to cabaret. 
This is a vital lesson, we must not let it 
pass unnoticed. 

It is good for all of us in every rank. The 
men accomplish their hard tasks, but the 
officers who command them are little more 
than overseers assigned to a hard, inglorious 
labour. They also bow to the inevitable. 

I can remember Commandant V 

supervising the distribution of picks and 
shovels among the men of my company. 
He is a distinguished officer and now pur- 

50 



THE EXCAVATORS 

sues his career at the head of a splendid 
regiment. I will always regret the departure 
of this chief whose many accomplishments 
and knowledge of science always made me 
marvel. He was very strict in the service, 
but above all strict with himself. He would 
have a charming ease of manner after giving 
his orders, which were always precise. He 
received great parcels from home and he 
loved to have us share his luxuries. At the 
bottom of the short notes of instruction 
which he wrote for us each day there always 
were sentences like this: "For the officers: 
an artichoke, a cake, three fresh eggs. " An- 
other time it would be a small can of foie 
graSy or sardines, or the first spring radishes. 
But, on the other hand, if it was a question 
of hastily constructing a boyau he would 
insist that the tool count be exact, that 
the distribution of work along the different 
sectors be made in an orderly manner — 
in silence and with the greatest possible 
speed. Even if it rained in torrents he 
would stand among the beet fields, straight 
as an arrow, emphasizing his orders with a 
wave of his stick. 

In addition, it was always he himself who 
traced out the work that had to be done. 

SI 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Once I spent an entire night at his side 
while the men were strengthening with tim- 
bers a new line of communication which he 
wished to establish between our first and 
second lines. Twice I tried to tell him 
that I would manage the affair without 
him. He would not admit that a chief 
should rest when his subordinates were 
working. 

My friends and I admired the importance 
that this man attached to the smallest 
duties. During the tragic hours of the 
beginning of the campaign he had given 
the highest proof of his worth and it was 
a great inspiration to us. 

As for the colonel, I shall always recollect 
him and the robber-like cave in which he 
lived at the beginning of the trench war- 
fare. As there were no boyaux in those 
days it was possible to visit him only after 
nightfall and in the dark one often wandered 
interminably in the beet fields, guarding 
the cows as the men call it, before finding 
the beam of light emerging from the hole 
in the ground which was his home. After 
descending a few steps and pushing aside 
a canvas curtain usually soaked from the 
heavy rains, one entered a rectangular 

52 



THE EXCAVATORS 

chamber always filled with tobacco smoke. 
The walls were littered with objects either 
hanging on hooks or reposing on crudely 
constructed shelves — pieces of china, a 
few books, several rifles, a German helmet, 
maps in quantities, quite a few bottles, and 
a telephone. The place was furnished with 
a straw mattress, a stove, a chair, and a 
table piled high with journals, notes, and 
papers. Sitting behind the table would be 
found a magnificent looking man clad in 
a hunting vest and velvet trousers. One 
would scarcely think him a soldier, but 
rather a philosopher taking refuge from the 
world in order to enjoy his favourite pleas- 
ures — reading and meditation. However, 
that powerful jaw denoted the man of 
action, and did one ever encounter a hermit 
with such gaiety of manner .? 

The source of his contentment was no 
secret. Having experienced every horror of 
war and having prepared himself a hundred 
times to make the sacrifice of his life, he 
was no longer affected by the petty priva- 
tions and miseries which ordinarily offend 
humanity. On the contrary, the slightest 
distraction in his den assumed the pro- 
portions of a beautiful event from which he 

53 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

drew the greatest delectation. Personally, I 
have never laughed so much or so whole- 
heartedly as since the beginning of the war. 
Do not say it is hysteria, it is the laughter 
of cheerfulness. 

One evening there were to be seen three 
crazy people, singing as they ran arm in 
arm along the road. Shall I confess that 
I was one of them? It was midnight. My 
two comrades and I had just come from the 
hoyaux. Our men were marching ahead of 
us, delighted to be going back to the can- 
tonment for rest. We, the officers, were 
following the company at a distance, having 
been delayed by the necessity of minutely 
explaining the orders to those who were 
relieving us. Our hearts began to beat 
more quickly when we mounted the earthen 
steps which liberated us from the last 
trench and we felt for the first time in 
a fortnight the fresh air about us and a 
good stone road under our feet. Our 
emotion was scarcely due to relief at turn- 
ing our backs to the enemy. We were only 
leaving the zone of bullets for that of shells, 
as the camp, which was the object of our 
desire, was constantly under bombardment. 
But we were escaping from out tombs 

54 



THE EXCAVATORS 

I recall that the sky was gray and full of 
dark, majestically-moving clouds which 
seemed full of water. Through this humid 
screen the moon shed enough light to 
illuminate and magnify two or three solitary 
trees on the plain. I found time in the 
midst of my gaiety to think of Corot. He 
would have loved to see the foliage melt 
away and the limbs of the elms stretch out 
their black lines in a ghostly night like this. 
However, the firm white earth of a real 
French road was more charming to us than 
all the poetry of these tragic trees. 

We pounded our heels upon the stones, 
and certainly the heels of a soldier make 
enough noise without that. We threw out 
our chests and suddenly surprised one an- 
other by saying almost together that we 
were happy. The enemy's rockets danced 
to right and left and behind, illuminating 
the horizon as if for a feast. Guns roared in 
the distance like lions in a menagerie. 
Softly we hummed the old home songs and 
they brought back all the vivid memories 
of my youth. 

A long time ago I gambolled with other 
children of my age on the road which runs 
along the beach of Middlekerque. I did not 

55 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

dream that one day Middlekerque would be 
at the extreme right of the most terrible 
army of invasion ever known in history, 
and still less did I think that, if that event 
occurred, I should find myself, as in those 
fine autumnal mornings, singing ^^Frere 
Jacques'' with friends just as dear. 



%^ 



LIBERTY 



III 

J^herty 

THIS morning we had to punish two 
men who were guilty of absence 
from the camp at night. During 
our march back to the trenches I watched 
them in the ranks. They were not accept- 
ing their misfortune cheerfully. Still full 
of wine, with their heads heavy from the 
fumes of the liquor, they were exchanging 
their views on destiny, like the augurs of 
old! 

"I wish this war would end soon!" 
"We shall be able to say what we think 
then!" 

*'And we shall be free once more." 
"We can tell them a few things when we 
get our freedom back!" 

It hurts me to hear them misconceive 
liberty in this fashion for I, too, love it dearly 
— but not as they do. They want the right 

57 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

to say everything, to do anything, to over- 
turn everything. Personally, I want more 
and less than that in order that my soul may 
remain free. 

Wise people have known for a long time, 
and the mass have learned from the war, that 
pure liberty — that is to say true freedom of 
will — does not exist. What exists is servi- 
tude; all men, all beings, even the most pow- 
erful have to submit to that law. 

At the present time we have the choice 
between French discipline and German 
tyranny. The only liberty we can enjoy is 
the preference of one to the other. Once 
the decision is made, nobility consists in 
trying to serve the good cause without abase- 
ment. One can obey worthily or dishon- 
ourably. Freedom exists only in degrees 
of servitude. One finds both heroes and 
cowards under the same yoke. To the 
coward the hero seems a free man. 

The important thing is to distinguish 
between good and evil obedience and to 
recognize among the primary laws those to 
which, on account of his nature, man must 
submit. There is merit and beauty in fol- 
lowing by preference these inevitable laws. 
One shows a weakness in submitting to the 

58 



LIBERTY 

others without complaint ; the free man does 
not always obey unquestioningly. 

But which are these necessary laws? 

In the material order of things we are 
beginning to recognize them. The law of 
falling bodies, for example, must be obeyed 
whether you wish to obey it or nbt. If 
you rebel against it, you are not thought 
free but insane! Mad people throw them- 
selves out of windows ; people of intelligence 
accept the necessity of descending to the 
street by the stairs. They know that it is 
not humiliating slavery to obey the law of 
gravity which binds them to the ground. The 
recognition of other necessary laws will help 
us to conquer the air without violating those 
rules which govern matter. Our fault consists 
in not knowing these other laws or in know- 
ing them imperfectly. Investigators and 
scientists devote their attention to finding 
them; and when they have been formulated, 
business people apply them. That is called 
progress and proves that as regards matter 
the last word of progress is not "liberty," 
but the intelligent obedience of mankind to 
the laws of the universe. 

It is just the same in the spiritual order 
of things. True friends of liberty do not 

59 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

rebel against these laws but try to know 
them in order to submit to them. 

Thus more than one of the familiar no- 
tions of our so-called "intellectuals" are 
overturned. We like to establish liberty 
in our institutions. Nothing is more fruit- 
less. The thing to establish is not liberty 
but order. 

We are accustomed to speak of our rights 
as free men. In regard to liberty we have 
no rights but two duties: to obey the true 
laws and to free ourselves from the others. 

Let each of us exert his intelligence and 
his heart to follow these principles and the 
result will be wise men with high ideals. 

The great present law is to save our 
Motherland. At the time of the mobiliza- 
tion we found ourselves face to face with 
numerous obligations, of which only one 
was valid. It was necessary to overcome 
many obstacles, to free ourselves of many 
duties, to obtain release from ties which 
were regarded as sacred in times of peace, 
and to offer ourselves to a new servitude 
with hands free and souls which owed no 
other allegiance. Only thus could the two 
duties of independence and obedience be ob- 
served at the same time. 

60 



LIBERTY 

It IS said that noble spirits love to free 
themselves from the yoke. The French sol- 
diers in violently breaking their other chains 
to surrender to this, the most sacred law, 
felt an unequalled joy in spite of their 
tears. If you doubt it, compare the peace 
reigning in their hearts with the pangs felt 
by those who, under a thousand pretexts, 
have remained behind the lines. One had 
to devote himself to his children, another 
to his business affairs, others to their usual 
pursuits, to their vices, to their cowardice. 
We always have ties. We must sever them 
when our duty to liberty demands it. Let 
all the French people free themselves in this 
manner and the word ''liberty," which was 
formerly empty of meaning when applied to 
our institutions, becomes a reality. 

A citizen thinks himself free if he chooses 
his sovereign. However, before voting he 
tries to find out the opinions of the official 
whom he distrusts and sums up the services 
that the nominee can render him if elected. 
The shopkeeper in addition considers the 
opinion of his clients and his purveyors 
before voting. He ought to obey the law 
of the public good instead of the many un- 
worthy ones which make him a slave. 

6i 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

It is true that this man ought not to be 
burdened with the responsibihty of such a 
choice. It is no easier to recognize the 
public good than the great laws which rule 
Nature. If we want the French people 
to be free, that is to say, subject only to 
reasonable laws, ^ then let us leave the 
care of establishing order to the people 
who are capable of it and demand from them 
guarantees of competence, continuity, and 
responsibility. Expect from them not lib- 
erty but prudent laws. Free citizens 
should neither rebel against these laws 
nor against the people who have the difficult 
task of formulating them; but rather against 
the low kinds of tyranny which weigh heav- 
ily upon most men. 

When after forty days in the trenches 
one goes to the cantonment for a rest it is 
difficult to be serious. It would seem so 
easy to spend those five days only in follow- 
ing one's fancy. Instead a march to the 
nearest forest is usually ordered to occupy 
the troops, amuse them, and exercise their 
stiff limbs. They have all lost the habit of 
keeping their places in the ranks. How- 
ever, the officers must keep them well 
grouped and aligned. We once met a troop 

6z 



LIBERTY 

of harassed territorials who were marching 
along anyhow. The sight of them amused 
our fellows very much and I listened to their 
remarks. 

"Do you see those fire-men?'' 

*'They are so old they no longer know 
how to march.'* 

"Do you call that a proper defile?" 

A little later we met a company of young 
soldiers belonging to the "class 15'* whom 
we all love. Our men exchanged their 
impressions like connoisseurs. They were 
proud of their little comrades and admired 
their easy gait and orderly ranks, but that 
did not make them any more ready to 
follow their example. However, the officers 
were there to enforce discipline. It is 
annoying to have to stay in the ranks ! If 
a man stops to light his pipe or to speak to 
a passerby he must run to catch up with 
his comrades. It is hot, and his flask is 
empty! If only he were free to stop at 
the public house in the first village ! 

Even I felt tired toward the end of the 
march that morning and there yet remained 
two kilometres to go. On my left, only 
two paces away, was an inviting green slope. 
Free, I should have thrown myself down on 

^3 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

it with delight. One of my men, nick- 
named "Le Tunisien/' was very thirsty, 
but drinking was against the rule. During 
the halt I had to take from his very lips the 
large glass of white wine which a good 
woman had brought him. It is sad to find 
such obstacles in the way of our liberty, but 
we must accustom ourselves to them. At 
the end of the morning the men of them- 
selves fell into the rhythmic march step and 
when we returned all felt happy. If we 
had straggled like a flock of sheep we would 
have come back cross and worn out. 

Must we then praise servitude and despise 
all liberties? We must give authority and 
hierarchy, in turn, our unfailing devotion 
and accept with philosophy some hard con- 
straints. But even under discipline one can 
— and ought to — preserve the sense of free- 
dom. 

In the field we feel acutely the value of 
obedience. We know that we shall liberate 
France by our zeal in serving her. Never- 
theless, I have never loved true liberty more 
then here. It is because we have detached 
ourselves from our accustomed ties. Not 
only have we broken away from those we 
hold most dear but, since the second of 

64 



LIBERTY 

August, 1914, many of us have irretrievably 
made the sacrifice of our Hves. We can 
not submit to questionable restraints after 
having freed ourselves in this manner from 
those which legitimately dominate the com- 
munity of mankind. 

Servility is rare now, although it used to 
be common in peace time. Certain officers 
were spoken of by their comrades as be- 
ing frousse. That word defined a defect 
of which I have found no trace here. It 
consisted of betraying agitation in front 
of one's chiefs and in fearing to assume 
responsibilities. A soldier who degrades 
himself in this manner is not worthy of his 
uniform. He is afraid because he mistakes 
the role and the power of those in authority 
over him. He is thinking of his advance- 
ment, of various advantages to be gained 
from them. If instead he demands of them 
information and direction for his service 
he will be a man of worth and a good soldier. 
In addition he will have the pride of owing 
the success of his career to his own personal 
merit, I do not obey my superior officers 
in order to gain profits by my meek obedience 
but because it is my law. It is quite natural 
for a man whose life is at stake to serve well. 

65. 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

This determines my actions; and, beyond 
my obligations as a soldier and the respect 
which I owe to those of superior rank, I do 
not accept here the orders of any master. 

After the war I think the French will 
accustom themselves to this reasonable 
conception of individual liberty. Nine of 
our departements are paying now with 
hardest slavery for the liberties which we 
have been taking for the last forty years 
with the power of our nation. Let us first 
free our France from servitude to Germany; 
we can then devote ourselves to our duties 
toward France alone. Thus shall we become 
free citizens without knowing it. 



£6 



COMRADES IN ARMS 



IV 

Qomrades in ^rms 

AT THE outset of the war I received 
Ljk a charming letter from a friend who 
XjL had just been promoted to the rank 
of sub-Heutenant. He wrote thus: 

My Old Friend: 

Here I am transformed into an officer. Since 
this morning I have worn the cap, sword, and gloves 
of a sub-lieutenant and one little stripe on each 
sleeve. The troops salute me and the sentinels 
present arms. You can conceive my emotion; not 
to mention a little thrill of conceit. I am like other 
men, a little foolish at times, and even at my age 
one feels a childish joy in seeing that one's costume 
is being admired. I blushed when, in the distance, 
I saw the first soldier who was going to salute me. 
I noticed that he threw away his cigarette and 
straightened a button on his coat and I thought: 
**He is going to salute me!" It happened as I 
expected. He made a great bow, looking me straight 
in the eyes, just as if I had always been an officer 1 
I answered him graciously; I was so pleased I 

67 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

After him many passed who were just as nice. 
Nearly all of them put a fine conviction in their 
gesture. Do the soldiers of other nations have an 
appearance as frank when they salute? My heart 
would not be in the right place if I did not love these 
men. The salute is a sign of respect, a thing which 
to-day exists almost nowhere but in the army. 
Nothing elevates a man as much as the feeling that 
he is respected. In the salutes of these soldiers I 
also see a confidence which is touching. Naturally 
I desire to justify this confidence and I want to be 
worthy of commanding those who entrust themselves 
to me in this manner. 

Yes, the soldiers do trust themselves 
to their chiefs. A week ago at the camp 
the colonel suddenly called all the officers 
together. There was great excitement : the 
trenches were to be carried five hundred 
metres forward. The two companies who 
were at rest had to return to the front, 
in an hour, to participate in the operation. 
It was one which might cost us dear, and 
the men, as soon as they were told of it, 
equipped themselves silently. There was 
the inevitable confusion of the first few 
minutes. As we walked about the streets 
the faces of the men were all turned toward 
ours. From every side eyes were trying 
to pierce the depths of our minds. They 

68 



COMRADES IN ARMS 

wanted to know what the officers were 
thinking, what they were hiding in their 
souls. With anxious eyes they gave them- 
selves into our keeping, but also seemed 
to implore: "You are coming with us, 
aren't you ? You are the leaders. You can 
count on us, but we also count on you!" 
Like my recently promoted comrade, who 
so deeply appreciated the salutes to his new 
rank, I looked affectionately at those im- 
ploring eyes. 

We do not know exactly the relations 
between the men and the officers in the 
German army. In France the finest fra- 
ternity exists among all those who wear 
the uniform. There has been some discus- 
sion as to whether the officers were right 
in using toward the men the familiar form 
of speech — tu (thou) instead of vous (you). 
As a matter of fact, it is an almost general 
practice at present. 

From the officer's standpoint I can see the 
need of establishing that familiarity. At 
the barracks, in peace time, the men always 
use the tu among themselves. It seems 
natural: they are of the same age and 
all young. At the war it is more re- 
markable that they do this because one 

69 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

finds a youngster of the class "17" in 
the ranks beside an old, wrinkled, stooping 
man of the class 1891. However, they live 
together like brothers, and if one were 
addressed as vousy he would not like it. We 
are naturally tempted to use their own 
language in speaking to these simple people 
whose existence we share. One does not 
use the familiar form of speech among the 
officers, save among comrades of the active 
army who have been promoted together. 
To me it seems very simple. Among soldiers 
one says iu; I am a soldier, therefore I use it; 
it comes easily. 

But the men say vous to me and find it 
natural to address me with respect. It only 
remains to ask whether they mind my treat- 
ing them familiarly? Most assuredly not. 
Why? Because at the front the relations 
between men have suddenly become natural 
and simple. In peace time, a civilian chief 
must observe all the formalities with his 
touchy subordinates. He says vous ^ to 
these gentlemen who sometimes hate him. 
Here everyone sees in the officer a master 
in the full sense of the word — that is to say, 
the man who commands and protects. 
The military chief is the father: the men 

70 



COMRADES IN ARMS 

accept his authority hand in hand with his 
affection. The familiar form of speech 
does not shock them, it comforts them. 

If you want to know what conception 
they have of their duty toward their officers, 
hear this sentence pronounced one evening 
by an intoxicated man, who thought he had 
been badly used by his captain: "If he 
falls in the beet fields I won't be the one to 
go and get him." The poor fellow was 
very angry and had thought of the worst 
punishment a soldier could inflict on his 
captain — to leave him wounded on the 
battlefield. It is certainly true that in the 
fray each man considers himself the New- 
foundland dog of his chief. The officer who 
does his duty toward his soldiers knows 
perfectly well that, should an injury befall 
him, each one of them will be ready to 
carry him on his shoulders or in his arms 
at the peril of his life. Can there be any 
objection to treating these children, who 
are devoted even unto death, like our own 
sons? 

The other day my orderly was astonished 
at a command I gave him. The good fellow 
thought it was not serious and said with a 
large smile: "My lieutenant is joking!" 

71 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

I found these words charming because 
they impHed so much. First there is the 
sense of respect: I had never told him to 
address me in the third person. It came 
as naturally to him as using the familiar 
form came to me. Nothing would induce 
him to deviate from the custom. When 
the orderlies are talking together one will 
say: 

"My lieutenant is calling you.'* 
"Which one — ^yours or mine?" 

"Not mine; it is my Lieutenant M " 

That "my" is intangible and part of the 
title. In my orderly's answer there were: 
the third person, to indicate respect; the 
possessive, to indicate affection; and the 
word "joking," to indicate the joy of being 
comrades in arms. 

Brothers in arms! For many years 
people have told us that all men were 
brothers. It has even^ been engraved in 
the motto: "Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite" 
on the walls of all our public buildings. 
The Germans have shown us what it is 
worth. Of the French fraternity, on the 
other hand, before the war we knew but 
little. I would like to make you understand 
how great is the friendship we feel for these 

72 



COMRADES IN ARMS 

soldiers amongst whom we live, sharing the 
same emotions and the same dangers. 

One night the cooks, who always know 
everything, announced that a battery of 
75-milIimeter guns was coming up to our 

lines to knock down the chimney of H 

which was situated a few miles ahead of us. 
It was a very tall factory chimney which 
dominated the entire plain. We knew 
that the Germans used it as an observation 
post from which they could spy on our 
slightest movements not only as far as our 
third line but clear back to our positions of 
retreat. They had installed in it good 
optical instruments of which they were 
very proud; in fact, they would expend 
several shells on a single man taking exer- 
cise at the rear; not for the profit they got 
from it, but just to astonish us. 

That night it was my turn on guard. 
The next day at the early hour selected 
by the artillery for the bombardment, I was 
resting four metres below ground. I shall 
always remember that horrible, propped-up 
cave: at my feet was the lamentable com- 
forter, formerly red, that for months we had 
been dragging from trench to trench. At the 
back on a table rudely made from the re- 

73 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

mains of a door stood our smoky lamp; 
hanging to the wall our glasses, our revol- 
vers, a package of grenade fuses, innumera- 
ble cans, periscopes, masks against asphyx- 
iating gas, and bulging knapsacks. Above 
the table on a small plank stood our bread 
loaves, bottles, and goblets. The lamp 
flickered and gave an awful odour. My bed 
was not too comfortable — very little straw on 
the hard earth — my pillow, a bag filled with 
sand. But I was sleeping soundly when a 
shout suddenly awakened me. 

"My Lieutenant, they are going to hit it 
on the head." 

"What is it?" 

"The chimney." 

"All right, let me sleep." ^ 

I was just dozing off again when a sharp 
report shook my cave, the sound of a de- 
parting "75" shell. Nothing for seven or 
eight seconds, then a distant thunder and 
almost at once a rapid crackling sound which 
astonished me. I sat up! Was it a volley? 
Then the silence once more. I shall never 
forget what I felt then. The outside noises 
reached me muffled, and I marvelled at being 
alone with my thoughts when the excitement 
was so great only a few steps away. The 

74 



COMRADES IN ARMS 

crackling sound which had alarmed me was 
caused by the clapping of many hands, as 
at a theatre. Later, I congratulated myself 
at having stayed lazily in my hole, for I had 
the best place from which to witness the 
bombardment of the chimney. Even now 
I can close my eyes and see it all clearly. 
Anyone can imagine a chimney which is 
beginning to totter. Shells explode around 
it, then pierce it, raising a cloud of brick- 
coloured dust. Suddenly it bends, breaks 
in three pieces, and crumbles to the ground. 
But imagine the soldiers clapping hands at 
each successful shell. I could hear the 
rattle of their applause and it stabbed my 
heart. In the profound silence that fol- 
lowed, I thought of all those Frenchmen, 
crazy with joy, while we^were destroying 
one of our own factories. My orderly 
remarked : 

" I wonder whether the Boche stayed up 
there." 

An Alsatian prisoner asserted a few days 
later that an observing officer had indeed 
been surprised by the bombardment and 
had come down with the chimney. In any 
case, that remark of my orderly stirred my 
imagination on the subject, and I pictured 

75 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

to myself the horrible agony of the German 
at the top of his tower. 

The reports of the guns continued one 
after the other. The men now no longer 
clapped. They probably were as anxiously 
expectant as I. It seemed to me as if 
a direct communication had been estab- 
lished between their souls and mine, and it 
was a real comfort for me to feel, even with 
my eyes shut, the same impressions that 
were moving them. Suddenly I heard a 
shriek like that of a band of schoolboys 
running out for the hour of recreation. All 
those big children of mine were crying 
victory ! Ah, the dear fellows ! How clear, 
how young, how charming their voices 
sounded in that delirious moment. It was 
better not to be too close. Near by I should 
probably have heard some objectionable 
remarks. They said : 

" Bravo ! Hurrah 1 Five la France I " 
But they doubtless used many less heroic 
words and applied to the Boches names 
much more vulgar. What matter? The 
important thing is to know how to extract 
the most from certain moments. I real- 
ized during that one that we were really 
brothers. That is to say, the young and 

76 



COMRADES IN ARMS 

care-free sons of a mother for the love of 
whom this cry of triumph was uttered. 
What, after all, are we in contrast to the 
Motherland? The candid accents of their 
acclamations put these men and myself in 
our true place, a very humble one. Poor, 
insignificant soldiers of an immortal France, 
in going through this simple emotion to- 
gether we learned how to unite our lowly 
hearts and love one another. 

Really, it is not difficult to fraternize 
with a crowd of soldiers. As a class, the 
common people are easy-going. When one 
leaves them in their proper place and does 
not ask them to think or feel beyond their 
possibilities, they are naturally docile and 
confident. The wonderful thing is the 
harmony among the officers. Although of 
extremely varied types they live in a very 
close intimacy. So many things might 
sever these ties: race, education, religion, 
fortune, age, or character. Before the 
enemy, the differences efface themselves. 
There remain only honest people, clinging 
to one another. 

At camp one day the sudden arrival of a 
new regiment was announced. We ran 
to the doors to see them march by. I must 

77 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

own that at the front, where the distractions 
are not numerous, one is prone to become a 
spectator. When soldiers go by we stand 
in a row, looking with staring eyes. 

When these warriors had stacked arms 
and broken ranks, two officers detached 
themselves from the group and entered the 
house whose doorway we filled. They in- 
quired of our orderlies : 

"Can we have dinner here?" 
" But, sir, the place is already taken." 
"All the more reason. We'll make ar- 
rangements with our colleagues. We will 
pay, you know." 

I came forward. The officer who had 
spoken planted himself in front of me. 
He was a little man with a tanned face 
worn by hard work. Poised on the side 
of his head was a battered cap which he 
shifted with each sentence, as if he were 
trying to find the funniest way of crowning 
his mischievous forehead. His short legs 
were tucked into extraordinarily wiae 
breeches. He had straight blue eyes and 
the truest accent of the Paris Faubourgs. 
"Dear Monsieur, I introduce myself: 

Lieutenant B . I am a reserve officer. 

I work in a grocery store. And you ?" 

78 



COMRADES IN ARMS 

"I am Lieutenant R ." 

"Aren't we going to mess together?" 

My comrades had gathered around him 
in a circle and we were beginning to enjoy 
the situation immensely. We quickly came 
to terms and the orderlies got ready to lay 
the table. 

"By the way," said I. "How many are 
you? Two?" 

" No, indeed, my friend ! Say eight, unless 

that wretch G again plays us the trick 

of not coming." 

He then proceeded to explain that G 

was the adjudanty a good soul, but mad 
about the service, and who would much 
rather give up his lunch than overlook the 
smallest of his duties. 

An adjudant! All right! We sat down. 
The jovial grocer took the best place, tucked 
at least half of his napkin in his collar, put 
his two hands on his short hips, looked 
at us with eyes full of fun, and lifting his 
tiny cap, loudly proclaimed that he was 
from Menilmontant. 

At first this phenomenal creature had 
frightened me, but he seemed so happy at 
being an officer, privileged to fight bravely, 
cat gluttonously, and drink good wine with 

79 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

comrades or colleagues, as he called them, 
that his joy little by little won us over. 
What ceased to be funny was the adjudanfs 
empty place. I really feared his entrance, 
even more so since his lieutenant constantly 
repeated: 

"Oh, what a character!" 

My fears were increased by the fact that 
the other lieutenant, whom I disliked, pro- 
fessed great friendship for the absentee. He 
had introduced himself rather ceremoniously. 
Profession: schoolmaster in a village in the 
Departement of La Loire, and secretary 
to the Mayor. I know the community: it 
is the most revolutionary one in the whole 
region. Its mayor is a redoubtable radical 
socialist, a terrible man, and in front of me 
was seated his intimate collaborator. We 
talked and I was surprised to find him an 
amiable fellow, not lacking in poise, entirely 
absorbed in the beautiful profession of 
soldiering. But what would his friend, the 
adjudant be like ? 

"Here he is!" 

The exclamation was uttered by the 
grocer. The whole band got up to greet 
him, waving their napkins. [Enter the 
adjudant.] 

80 



COMRADES IN ARMS 

"Ladies and gentlemen." 

"Well," whispered one of my comrades. 
"Here is another one who takes life merrily." 

His place was next to me. I looked at 
him : closely cropped head, ordinary soldier's 
appearance. 

He sat down, laid his napkin on his lap, 
began to eat slowly in silence. 

"A simpleton," I thought. 

However, it is necessary to treat one's 
guests with courtesy, so I emptied the rest 
of the wine bottle in a glass, murmuring to 
put myself on a level with them: 

"You will be married within the year." 

"No, I won't, for the good reason that I 
am an Abbe." 

"The truth is out," said the man from 
Menilmontant, at the other end of the 
table. 

Why, yes, the truth was out. I own that 
I foresaw nothing of the sort. 

My neighbour added, in a whisper: 

"And you know of me, I am the Abbe 
G . Vicar of N ." 

He named one of the most intelligent and 
active priests of our times, a sort of an 
apostle, very young and already famous. I 
then looked at him attentively and discov- 

8i 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

ered a beautiful, strong-willed, clean-cut jaw; 
a fine mouth, and piercing eyes, deep set 
under a calm forehead. 

The others, the Poilus^ were delighted at 
our surprise, and they asked the adjudant 
to relate why he had been mentioned in 
dispatches. They had to insist, but with 
those rogues one had to give in or produce a 
good reason for not doing so. He finally 
explained that there had been no one willing 
to go and bring in a man who had fallen 
wounded in front of the enemy lines. He 
himself crawled rapidly out toward him, 
hoping to be able to give the poor fellow 
the extreme unction, and ran right into 
the midst of a German patrol. He was 
alone, unarmed. The officer, a Bavarian, 
held a revolver to his head. The Abbe 
then looked him well in the face and said : 

"You surely wouldn't think of killing me 
lying down. Wait till I get up." 

The other thought the Frenchman was 
calling a troop to his rescue and, taken with 
panic, ran away with his men. 

What impressed me most during that 
story was the sight of the joyful eyes and 
visible admiration of the anti-clerical school- 
master — I met the latter the next morning. 

82 



COMRADES IN ARMS 

We talked over his troublesome community, 
his mayor, and his politics before the war. 

"Pooh," said he; "we will look after 
that when we come back. In the meantime, 
I have had a beautiful sleep." 

"Where?" 

"Across the street. The sheets were clean, 
the bed good but not very wide." 

"What do you mean? I know that bed. 
It is a double bed." 

"That's just it, there are two of us." 

"Whom did you sleep with?" 

**With no other than the Abbe." 



83 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 



glory 

A QUEER silence reigns over the 
fields where we are entrenched ! Cer- 
tainly the guns are often noisy 
and the whistle of the shells is in our ears, 
but no bells sound from the neighbouring 
churches; there are no more roosters crowing 
in the farmyards, no more dogs to make the 
echoes ring with their barking, no more whips 
cracking gaily. I have often had here 
the impression of being far out at sea. 
Our dugout is narrow and low like a cabin. 
The thunder of the artillery resembles the 
sound of the waves in a storm. When a bomb 
bursts in our sector the earthen vaults 
vibrate like the hull of a ship. If we go out 
at night to stand guard in the firing 
trench or at the listening post, it seems as if 
we jwere going on the captain's bridge 
and like sailors we fix our eyes on the black 



GLORY 

horizon. This impression is chiefly caused 
by the fact that the plain is dead like the 
ocean. Hearing is perhaps the most acute 
of our senses. AH the familiar noises which 
usually come through the air in the fields are 
absent from here, and the earth seems to 
me cold and hostile like a stretch of salt 
water. 

And yet our men are gay and dream 
beautiful dreams in their gloomy holes. 
Yesterday, when one of them was looking 
depressed, an officer passed. 

"What are you thinking of, old man?" 

"My home." ... 

"You will see it again, sir, all right." 

"Ah! I am not so sure, but when one 
worries one reads the citations'^: it cheers 
you up!" 

Can that man who always seemed an 
amateur soldier be interested in heroes and 
would he really like to become one himself.? 
Is it possible? But better things still are 
happening. We have in the company a 
particularly uncouth individual. He always 
has a dirty face and his clothes are never more 
than half fastened. He is short legged like 
a bull terrier and as ugly as sin. During the 

•Mentions in Dispatches. 

8S 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

past month every day at twilight he would 
stride over the trench and go, with his 
hands in his pockets and a shovel under 
his arm, toward the enemy's lines. Many 
German corpses were lying out there. At 
each journey he would bury several and 
come back swearing against these mis- 
creants who leave their dead unburied in 
the beet fields. We gave him a little 
brandy as a reward. Perhaps you think 
we were rid of him after that ? I thought so, 
too. But yesterday, while we were talking 
about a soldier who, for his gallantry, had 
been mentioned in dispatches he passed by 
grumbling and I heard him mumble: 

"I guess it ought to be my turn to be 
cited!" 

The grave-digger, too, was working to 
be admired and wanted to read his name 
among those of the heroes ! 

That incident made me ponder, and at 
night I meditated on glory, while, opposite, 
the enemy was firing spasmodically. 

What is glory? It is the more radiant 
light of one being outshining that of others. 
One can perform a noble action and keep 
it secret, but it needs the help of the crowd 
to make it a glorious one. A hero judges 

86 



GLORY 

the degree of his glory by the number of 
those who pay him tribute. 

And that is why glory is at the same time 
so beautiful and so fruitless. 

There exists a popular proverb which 
neglects glory: ^'Do right and never mind 
what people say." Which means that our 
acts are of some value in themselves, 
independent of the judgment of men. 
It is a sage opinion, but a proud and 
contemptuous one. Should I then be sole 
judge of what is right or wrong.? Haven't 
the men who are made in God's image 
souls as capable as mine of being moved by 
beauty? For my part, I think a great deal 
of my fellow creatures' opinions. I per- 
ceive, however, that the stupidity of the 
masses constitutes a peril which in its 
turn may encourage men to play to the 
gallery only. But honour to those who win 
the love of simple hearts ! Confronted by 
eminent goodness or striking genius, all souls 
become simple, and admiration is glory. I 
pity the man who does not accept the hom- 
age of a sincere crowd as a divine caress. 

However, we must have other responsibili- 
ties if we want the war in which we are en- 
gaged to bear its fruit. First, we must go to 

87 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

it gravely. The Saint-Cyriens who went to 
the assault in their white gloves had the 
enviable role of writing the most moving 
and most noble page of the first part of 
the epic. We must write the others with a 
bold hand. 

The other day at the camp our captain 
told us to talk to the men on some moral 
theme. We did it, on the duties of the 
father of a family in the war. I explained 
to the good fellows who sat around me that 
the more children one had the more ardour 
one ought to put in fighting. The loss of a 
bachelor is more fatal to the motherland than 
that of the head of a family because the first 
dies altogether, whereas the latter leaves chil- 
dren who carry on his work. Also a father 
knows better than any other why he is fight- 
ing. He defends his own home along with the 
other homes of his country. Really among 
the men around me, the best soldiers are 
those who have left at home four or five 
children whose pictures they show with emo- 
tion to everyone. 

Glory, in the eyes of these people, is a 
fantasy. In mine it has a worse fault: it 
tempts people, in a materialistic age, to 
capitalize their virtues. 

88 



GLORY 

Glory is fame with a hundred tongues, 
the ^'jama^ of ancient Rome. Before the 
war one acquired fame by pubUcity instead 
of heroism. Men were classed according to 
their wealth and therefore everyone sought 
riches. With that aim, one needed to be 
popular and sought after. By certain means 
it is possible to commercialize one's fame 
and thus win fortune, but it involves 
heavy payment. In the world of scientists, 
artists, and writers, one also gains riches by 
parading and advertising one's merits, by 
blowing one's own trumpet. Advertisement 
is the plague of the century. That which re- 
quires great effort and preparation on the 
part of a notoriety seeker can be won in 
one day by a hero with a single fortunate 
gesture. A good thrust of the sword is 
therefore worth more than a hundred 
thousand francs of newspaper advertis- 
ing. 

I would feel ashamed of having dared to 
advance this comparison between glory and 
advertisement, but after the war we will go 
back to our cities with regenerated souls, 
which we must try to keep from every stain. 
Let us beware of ever making unworthy use 
of our great experiences. 

89 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Glory is a precious but heavy burden. 
When one has gained, by a heroic action or by 
a great achievement, the regard and the love 
of men, one belongs to the crowd — and the 
crowd is exacting. It is never satiated with 
glory and wants the hero to remain eternally 
worthy of its homage. For most soldiers 
this is easy. They die and their remem- 
brance remains thenceforth unchangeable; 
if they live they cease after the war to oc- 
cupy the public mind. 

But I am sorry for those who, having 
once won renown, must devote themselves 
unceasingly to its propagation. It does not 
only require noble effort, it is not enough 
to give people fresh cause for admiration: 
one must guard oneself from the thousand 
pitfalls of popularity, answer all the ac- 
clamations with smiles, and evade a quan- 
tity of stupid invitations. One becomes the 
guardian of one's glory: one appraises it 
sometimes stingily, sometimes more gen- 
erously; one spends one's life in petty 
bargaining. For my part I know few things 
more disappointing than to see some of these 
great men, hesitating between the fear of see- 
ing their name unjustly forgotten, and their 
disgust for the unworthy contrivances to 

90 



GLORY 

which they must resort in order to maintain 
it in its rightful place. If, as I believe, it is 
only simplicity of heart which allows one 
to taste true happiness, those upon whom 
Glory has smiled run the risk of never 
again being perfectly happy. 

Must we then fear glory or disdain it ? I 
think we must love it, not for the enjoyment 
it brings us, but for the sake of mankind, 
to whom noble examples and inspiring 
spectacles are beneficial. 

We have just had, here, an example of 
this. One of our young comrades a few days 
ago made a fortunate stroke. The general 
commanding the army had issued an order 
to capture at any cost and send to him a 
prisoner. Our friend was put in charge of 
the little expedition. He left with a few 
men and captured a German post, the chief 
occupant of which he killed. He came back 
after a short but very bloody struggle and 
brought with him a good-looking lad with 
great, startled blue eyes. There is not always 
great merit in taking a prisoner, but when 
one does it in this manner, by command, 
and goes out to get him in the trench op- 
posite, not at one's chosen hour, but at the 
one arbitrarily fixed by the commandant, 

91 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

the operation deserves praise, and our friend 
is to be cited among the brave. 

The next day we were discussing, among 
ourselves, with much vivacity, the way in 
which he had conducted the operation. 

Having found an unoccupied section of 
German trench, he had placed there the 
main part of his patrol, and had gone for- 
ward himself toward the neighbouring 
trench, accompanied by only one man. We 
wanted to determine whether he had acted 
wisely in exposing himself thus. Some 

E raised him for it, others thought that in 
is boldness he had overstepped his duties 
as chief and had thus endangered the safety 
of his entire party. 

We were getting somewhat excited when 
one of us wisely interrupted : 

**My friends, let us argue no more. We 
are much excited, and there is but one con- 
clusion from our useless discussion. If we 
are excited it is because we all secretly envy 
a happier comrade- Moreover, his action 
was very creditable to him, as well as to us. 
It proves that he has been a hero and that 
we all ardently desire to find an occasion to 
imitate him soon." 
Nothing could have been truer. Our 

92 



GLORY 

hearts were surging within us. Our jeal- 
ousy was a wholesome incentive to heroism ! 
Envy is hateful; it is a base and shameful 
sentiment. If there are men whose souls are 
mean enough to witness with spite the hon- 
our which a brave man has won we must 
pity them. But one can be jealous of his 
bravery — that is to say, have the acute desire 
to equal him. Glory puts this ardour in the 
soul and that is why it is often as bene- 
ficial to those who seek it as it is fatal to 
those who have won it. 

In our trenches its power is considerable. 
The Army Bulletin publishes information, 
songs, anecdotes, and, at the end of each 
number, the names of those cited in the 
orders of the day. Its editors could omit 
all the rest and leave only the citations. It 
is in order to read them that we all want 
the paper. I have seen some good fellows, 
lying flat on the muddy straw of their 
gourbisy slowly reading every citation, word 
by word, following the lines with their 
thick fingers. 

Have they the ambition to be cited, too, 
in their turn? There are some who would 
be frightened by so much honour; they are 
the modest ones. Others, fathers of fam- 

93 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

iHes, more soberly inclined, are only trying 
to do their duty. Their ambition is not to 
see their names in the papers, but to kiss 
their wives and children as soon as peace is 
signed. 

But all, without exception, admire their 
comrades who have been mentioned. They 
admire; that is the chief thing. I love the 
glory which shines out from everywhere 
around us in this war, because of the great 
service it will have rendered the French soul 
in restoring the faculty of disinterested 
admiration. 

Thus the hearts of these men who tramp 
along with me through the clay are becom- 
ing purified. They not only learn to love 
duty, itself, the source of all joys, but in 
serving only their country they exert them- 
selves to free their souls from envy. They 
had been told that in order to be happy 
it was necessary to make use of all their 
rights, and to search for the most di- 
verse pleasures. It will be possible, after 
the war, to explain to them, without being 
scoffed at, that the best are those who love 
to work and who, when the day is finished, 
return to find their joys in a home, simply 
furnished, but gay with laughter of many 

94 



fiWRY 

voices. They had been advised not to 
tolerate superiority in others, that all 
citizens were equal, and here, with admira- 
tion, they acknowledge the superiority of 
certain men to others. 

What will remain then of the principles 
on which rested the corrupt society in which 
we lived? Will it be possible, hereafter, to 
again mislead these people with malicious 
doctrines and render them egotistical, dis- 
orderly, and mean, in spite of the inherent 
virtue of the French race ? 

As for glory, let us love it if we have time. 
And you, whose hearts are following us, do 
not be shocked by the statement that we 
are not fighting for the love of the game. 
We are going to give the Germans a lesson, 
and we want our France to come out of 
the trial, not only safe, but exalted. The 
rest is only secondary. That is the feeling 
in our souls. Dream of the glory of those 
you love, their hallowed swords and their 
foreheads crowned with laurels; nothing 
could be better for you. For us, however, 
there is something more positive in this 
war. 



95 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 



VI 

J^rksy ToppieSy <tMice 

WHEN I was a child my parents 
owned a bound collection of the 
^' LUnivers Illustre'' dating from 
the beginning of the Second Empire. I used 
to look at the pictures and read the captions 
underneath them. In this way all the peo- 
ple of rank at the Imperial Court were 
visualized for me. I remember that their 
Majesties, the Emperor and Empress of 
France, were always making innumerable 
trips to inaugurate railways or to compli- 
ment certain cities, large and small. I used 
to study the sovereign's august beard, 
represented by little undulated lines, each 
of which seemed to me to be a true hair 
drawn after nature. Nothing can ever pre- 
vent me from coupling in my imagination 
the forgotten art of wood engraving with 
the period of the majestic and comical hoop 

96 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

skirt — a fashion which I hear is coming 
back. After turning many pages I came 
to the war of 1870, and then to the Com- 
mune, I followed those two tragedies with 
passionate interest. My eyes grew bigger 
when I looked at the military barricades, and 
I contemplated with terror the rough faces of 
the confederate troops, the entreating or re- 
signed glances of the hostages, the extraor- 
dinary black blotches, representing flames 
on the roofs of the Tuileries or of the Cour 
des Comptes, At the time my mother was 
playing Grieg's Spring Song on the piano. 
Since then I have often heard it played at 
private or public concerts. Every time my 
heart jumps as if I were expecting to hear 
the crackle of shots of the Civil War. 

Like Grieg's notes, which always bring to 
my ears the noise of firing, there is a small 
number of people and objects that, in the 
trenches, become associated with different 
senses. Henceforth, we shall no longer be 
able to see, hear, touch, or smell them with- 
out thinking of the war, which, through 
them, will haunt us until death. 

I have said we can hear no sound in the 
fields where we have dug our winter holes : 
no bells, no dogs, no roosters. Spring and 

97 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

summer have come without bringing back 
any of these sounds. There is a church bell 
not far away, but it is shattered and on the 
ground. The soldiers cut pieces from it and 
convert them into rings, which are more 
popular than those made of aluminium. 
There is a dog quite near here. While I 
am writing he keeps watch from the parapet 
of a listening post, but he is not allowed 
to bark. His assignment is to scent the 
enemy, point him, and keep quiet. As for 
the roosters, I admit that, a few days ago, I 
thought they had come back. Some Hes- 
sian guardsmen, opposite, were awakening 
and imitating animal cries. The French 
infantry answered with such enthusiasm 
that on each side and from trench to trench 
the cock's crow might have been heard, that 
morning, to our left as far as the sea; to our 
right as far as Belfort. 

And yet, one day in February, there 
arose a voice from the dead earth. It has 
continued to sound ever since, at dawn, thus 
enchanting our solitude. It is the voice of 
the lark. 

Once, at daybreak, while in one of those 
first muddy shelters that we built so 
crudely, I thought I heard the song of a 

93 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

bird. It might have been a man, whistling 
in his cave, but the notes were too pure and 
fresh, and followed one another too rapidly. 
They grew in volume, and little by little, 
spreading over the plain, filled our desolated 
sky with such joy that I went out and 
stayed a long time motionless, listening. 

**It is pretty, my Lieutenant!" 

Next to me I perceived the smiling face of 
my orderly. Was it to hear or to see better 
that the good fellow was showing his teeth 
so? He seemed to be in ecstasy. 

Since that day the larks have become 
our friends. No person ever comes to see 
us at the front. These little birds alone 
link us to the rest of the world. How could 
we help loving them? They are all we 
have. 

Was it the novelty of it which caused our 
admiration the first time we heard the con- 
cert ? It was a new pleasure, but our emo- 
tion came from a more profound source. 
Our souls are able to participate in great 
events which they cannot see. Sometimes 
we have a vision and suddenly the magni- 
tude of the scene before us and the signifi- 
cance of our acts appear to us. Outside of 
these minutes, when we know how to live, we 

99 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

act with the simplicity of children. The 
latter are wise without knowing it, for by 
means of their little virtues they are prepar- 
ing, that wonder of God, a beautiful life. We 
are disciplined and attentive to our military 
duties, but careless of the rest, and we are 
scarcely conscious of the fact that we are 
writing an epic. 

It is better thus. But it is also a good 
thing sometimes that a shock awakens our 
slumbering spirits. Contrasts give us this 
shock. When suddenly we perceive the me- 
diocrity of a being or an object which we con- 
sidered, very important, our nerves contract 
and we penetrate to the depths of human 
misery. When a lark flies over a battle- 
field it reveals the sweetness of life to people 
who had become familiar with the neigh- 
bourhood of death. They look and listen 
enchanted and, if they cast their eyes down, 
they realize in a minute all the horror of the 
place where they are living, all the savage 
beauty of the task they are accomplishing. 
That is why the heart beats at such 
moments and why this soldier who had 
always seen so many larks before the war 
without noticing them, here, in the trench, 
remarks: "It is pretty, that song.'* 

100 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

Certain larks are closer to our hearts 
than others; some, although less accessible, 
are more touching. Our best companions 
are those who dwell in the clover behind our 
lines. They live near us on ground that 
we have kept for them with the rampart of 
our bodies. They are the first to benefit 
from the protection we give to all that 
France of which the valleys and plains 
stretch from us to the ocean. They are the 
outpost of the hard-working country that we 
defend. Hard working themselves, atten- 
tive to their daily needs, they are charming 
housekeepers, who come and go, chattering as 
they do their work. They do not make any 
pretences, they do not flutter like those 
crazy swallows, which we never see here 
and which we will find only when we return 
again to our homes, God knows when! 
They are sweetness and grace itself, and 
when they mount in the sky so high that 
our eyes, although long accustomed to dis- 
covering the aeroplanes, can no longer 
follow them, we feel that they do not realize 
the beauty of their flight, so simple and 
naive is the note that falls from their 
throats. 

In front of our lines, between the Germans 

lOI 



COMRADES IN, COURAGE 

and us, live the tragic larks. How many 
times have I not looked at those little 
creatures who stay on in spite of the horror 
about them, and who sing even above 
death ? They show us the vanity of human 
quarrels. Some Germans and French are 
fighting : what is that to them as long as the 
sun rises and the earth, neglected though it 
be by ungrateful and quarrelsome man, 
provides the food for their little ones? 
When from the parapet of the trench one 
contemplates the mysterious plain where 
the soldiers of the most formidable armies 
of the world are hidden what a surprise it 
is to see a cheerful little bird suddenly 
emerge, hop about, turn somersaults, and 
suddenly fly away, transporting us with it 
toward the sky. These French larks are 
so alert and quick to conquer the skies, 
right in front of the enemy, that with very 
little imagination we make them the em- 
blem of our race, impulsive but well poised, 
ingenious and merry, singing and rising at 
the same time, and like them we also shall 
be victorious. 

We love our larks as the messengers of 
glory, prophets of all good news. It was 
their note which warned us of the spring- 

102 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

i 
time while we were still bending our backs 

under the weight of winter, and I must tell 

you of the signal they give us every morning. 

Imagine a night in the trench and the 
night guard, up listening. The fusillade 
is almost continuous. It decreases some- 
times and begins again, suddenly, no one 
knows why. Our men respond but little. 
What would be the use.? Ceaselessly the 
Germans send up illuminating rockets. 
With great speed they rush upward, giving 
a vivid light for fifty or sixty metres of their 
course and then die down. The light given 
by ours is not so penetrating but lasts 
longer. They remain suspended from a 
light parachute and during seconds which 
seem interminable project on the grass a 
pale light. The vegetation seems to be- 
come animated and sinister shadows seem 
to move in front of our lines. Our men 
shoot at these phantoms and on the other 
side the rifles go off, too, but toward the 
sky. The Germans, who never miss an 
occasion to practise, are aiming at the fuses. 
It makes one think of boys at a fair, trying 
to shoot an tgg dancing on a jet of water. 

All that noise has nothing bellicose about 
it. Sometimes the artillery thunders. If 

103 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

It IS ours, we inevitably say: "They are 
getting the worst of it." 

If it is theirs, one doesn't laugh quite so 
much, but one finds, even then, words of 
consolation. 

" I hear we need more aluminium for our 
rings. We have ordered some from the 
Boches; they are good business men and 
they are filling the order immediately." 

The hours are long. Cold, obscurity, 
silence, immobility, and danger tire even 
the most courageous. Formerly, in peace 
tirne, when on guard, one could always 
tell the time by the convent bells. Here 
there is nothing of the sort, and nearly all 
our watches are broken! When will the 
day come ? With bent backs and our brown 
rugs folded in two or four over our heads and 
shoulders, we walk in Indian file, stamping 
our feet, taking ten steps to the right, then 
all together, after an "about face," ten 
to the left. Suddenly we hear a muflSed 
roar. We stop and listen. It is a strong 
cannonade over there toward the north. 
After a few minutes of attention, a few com- 
ments on the war, and always a few jokes, 
too, we resume with a sigh the muddy prom- 
enade, waiting for the divine morning hour. 
104 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

Daylight means release. The cooks will 
bring hot soup and coffee. Life will re- 
sume its course. The trench, in a few 
minutes, will be cleaned and swept like a 
barrack corridor. The number of men on 
guard duty will be reduced. We will 
breathe once more. 

And yet light is not coming. The sun 
which ought to appear behind the German 
lines remains hidden. It is two o'clock: 
the corporal has said so. One leans against 
the parapet, with eyes lost in the gray sky, 
and a heavy soul. 

Suddenly a chirp, then another, then 
several. Thank the Lord the larks are 
waking! Is it possible.? The dawn has 
not yet appeared, but happiness enters our 
hearts, as when at school the pupils hear 
the liberating bell. It is necessary to have 
been on watch like this during long nights 
in front of the enemy to know the intoxicat- 
ing beauty of the sun's rising, accompanied 
by the song of the lark, and to love forever 
those charming birds, heralds of all glories : 
the spring, the day, and — God permitting — 
victory. 

There are other creatures around us, 
but silent and terrified ones. These arc 

IDS 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

not sacred, and the soldier who has a rifle 
and knows how to use it watches for them 
and from his hole shoots them without a 
permit. The listening posts, in front of 
the lines, are wonderful for that. The art 
consists in shooting the partridges through 
the head. It is very easy for those who know 
how. If one misses one's aim, one smiles 
and hopes that the bullet was not entirely 
wasted, and that perhaps over there some 
German may have found himself in the 
right place to receive it. It is nothing to 
kill a partridge: but in order to eat it it is 
necessary to go and bring it in from the grass, 
straight in front of the enemy. Some of 
the men, who would perhaps make a grimace 
if they were told to crawl out to observe or 
listen, jump on the parapet and on all 
fours, madly imprudent, laughing at every- 
thing — the Boches and themselves — run 
toward the little prey, put it in their pocket, 
and come back nearly as happy as if they 
had won the croix de guerre. 

One day a great big chap, a renowned 
shot, noticed that the beet-stalks were 
moving. He pushed his neighbour's elbow: 

"A Boche, there, look!" 

" A Boche ? You are crazy ! It is a hare." 
io6 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

"I believe it is a Boche and so" — boom! 

I must tell you that, two days before, it 
had been forbidden to shoot at game on 
account of wasting ammunition. He shot 
and killed a splendid hare, and, his hour 
of watch over, brought it to us. 

The funny part is that the next day the 
Bulletin brought news of the punishment of 
a man from another company who had done 
exactly the same thing: '*has wasted two 
bullets on a hare in spite of strict orders 
against shooting published in the order of 
the day." 

That same evening the Colonel, while 
going through our trench, saw a beautiful 
skin hanging by our door. He opened wide 
his eyes and asked : 

"What did you give the man who killed 
that for you?" 

" Five sous. Colonel." 

"It is not too much. As for the other 
unlucky man who got punished, I'll have the 
offence changed. I'll say: 'Has missed a 
hare.' That's well worth four days' con- 
finement." 

"Quite so. Colonel." 

Of what other birds, what other game 
can I speak to you? There are no crows 

107 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

around here, only the empty nest of one. 
The bird has not appeared since we came 
here. Its nest is very important; it is a 
strategical point. When we studied his- 
tory, we imagined the great warriors of 
olden days, pale from bending over maps, 
their eyes fixed on fortified cities and 
narrow passes. Here it is in front of a tiny 
manure heap, which is flattening itself out 
and disappearing as the months go by, and 
a tree, at the top of which is a crow's nest, 
that we are stopped. In all the military 
conversations, whether one is speaking of 
patrols, reconnoitring, attacks, or the regu- 
lation of artillery fire, the "crow's nest" 
and the little "manure heap" recur, con- 
stantly, like a leit motiv. It makes us mod- 
est and that is a good thing. I am always 
so afraid that after the war those who will 
have the joy of being still alive will think 
themselves extraordinary men and become 
insufferable. For my part, if people ask 
me to tell about my great deeds of valour 
and I am tempted to glorify myself, I will 
at once think of the crow's nest, and if they 
insist, of the manure heap. 

If people remark later that the war was 
ugly, those who took part in it will say that 

io8 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

at least the poppies in front of the trenches 
were not ugly. The battlefield poppies will 
remain in our eyes throughout our life as 
the lark's song will remain in our ears ! 

Have you, Madame, received from your 
son or husband; or you. Mademoiselle, 
from your fiance — from the one for whom 
your heart beats — a war poppy, spread out 
on a white sheet of paper with a name and 
a date? If so, guard that beautiful red 
stain as piously as a relic. 

I first saw the dazzling vision of the war 
poppies about a hundred yards back of the 
line, near a camp. We were going out from 
a village, a comrade and I. Just as we 
had passed the last house, a huge, bright 
red field appeared in the valley near by. 

"How dreadful!" exclaimed my compan- 
ion. 

I looked at him, then at the poppies. 

"You are joking?" 

"Not at all! Those are weeds! Hid- 
eous!" 

One becomes an oflScer in war time, but 
one has a profession in civil life. My friend, 
although a very good officer, always re- 
mained the scientific farmer he had once 
been. 

109 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

"Monsieur, the agriculturist," I replied: 
"your words are undoubtedly true. That 
beautiful thing is a field of desolation, but all 
the same I find it wonderful. Look again ! " 

I explained that it was beautiful in the 
same way that a painting is beautiful. The 
argument proved convincing and I felt 
proud of having found it. Our eyes have 
contracted a sense of colour that Nature 
rarely offends. Beautiful and rich enough, 
without resorting to the bizarre, she charms 
us without effort and we sense all the beauti- 
ful secrets that each season has brought 
forth unchangingly since the beginning of 
the world. The artist, less powerful and 
less disinterested, in order to captivate our 
interest, must resort to some artifice, which 
is not always successful. The most com- 
mon of these consists in throwing extraor- 
dinary colour combinations before our 
eyes. Thus each year, in the art exhibits, 
one sees purple, yellow, and red tints, which 
rarely exist under the true sun in the fields. 
One of those red tints, unknown to us in 
peace, because it was then intermingled 
with the mellowness of the wheat, has now 
rapidly extended into great blood-red car- 
pets before our eyes. When a painter dares 

no 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

to do as much, one smiles. If it is Nature, 
one admires ! 

When we went back to the first line at 
the time of the great battles in Artois, I 
was glad to see the poppies growing even 
there, in front of the trenches. They en- 
chanted our eyes, and it was through that in- 
trinsically worthless but strikingly beautiful 
vegetation that our soldiers, gay cavaliers, 
went forward to the assault. Can one say 
that those scarlet harvests were worthless.? 
Is it nothing to have cheered the last glance 
of so many sons of France ? The neglected 
earth, unable to produce wheat to nourish 
our bodies, gave us rays of triumphal light 
for the joy of our souls. During days of 
mourning beautiful things are revolting. 
But the war, through which we are living, 
instead of weakening our souls, exalts 
them. While we sadly draw black veils 
over the remains of our brothers in arms, 
God, who knows better than we how to 
honour the dead, bestows upon them a pro- 
fusion of war flowers, mingling their red col- 
our with the blood of our martyrs. 

A thousand other flowers spring up 
around our trenches. One day a little girl, 
eager to serve France in her own way, told 

III 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

her mother to ask me to send her the name 
of a poor soldier to adopt as her godchild. 
I got hold of a good fellow whose family 
lives in a province occupied by the Germans, 
and I started a correspondence between 
my little French girl and this pleasing but 
uncultivated godchild. The letters and 
presents began pouring in! The soldier 
was delighted. He said to me: 

"She wants me to write her the names 
of my children. Fll send them to her in 
a letter.'' Then he added: "If you don't 
object, my Lieutenant, I could perhaps 
send her a flower?" 

A week later the little godmother told 
me that she was astonished at the pretty 
thoughts the soldiers have, and that her 
godchild had sent her a beautiful golden 
flower. 

The flower was one of those common wild 
ones which are unknown to city people, 
like me, by name, but which we love to 
find growing in the fields in springtime. 
The flower was enclosed with a long, poetic 
letter from her godchild that the dear child 
sent me. 

I had seen my man that very morning, 
leaning over a parapet, in one of the back 

112 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

trenches, scribbling big, ill-shaped letters 
on a white sheet of paper. 

"It makes you sweat, old man." 

•* Rather, my Lieutenant.'' 

"When you dig, you don't get so hot?*' 

"Well, no, sir." 

Was this simple being, then, capable of 
writing pretty things? I opened the pre- 
cious paper, sent by the child, and saw 
capital letters traced artistically. My eyes 
fell on this sentence with dismay: "With 
my hand on my heart, Mademoiselle, and 
dear godmother, I place at your knees, 
rather at your feet, this emblem of your 
simple grace." 

The monster of dupHcity, aided by the 
"writer" of the squad, had copied his letter 
out of a manual for correspondence, called 
'' Le parfait Secretaire" and had deceived 
my honest little girl. I was tempted to be 
severe with him, but, after all, in this case 
the letter mattered so little! Upon think- 
ing it over, this rough man's action seemed 
to me full of grace. He knew the rules of 
gallantry well enough to pluck a flower and 
offer it to his lady. 

There came a day when we must ruthlessly 
cut the high grass and with it the flowers. 

"3 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

All that vegetation hid the enemy's posi- 
tions and allowed him to crawl nearly up to 
us without being discovered. One morning 
we heard that the company was going to 
be sent two scythes. These new weapons 
were received in the commanding post with 
much respect by a comrade and myself. 
Neither of us had ever encountered such a 
tool face to face! I won't say we felt 
frightened: we were more like chickens 
who had found a toothbrush. That same 
evening we began to clear the ground in 
front of the parapet. Of course, the scythes 
were broken during the first night. Then 
we were given sickles to use. They were 
all right for the grass, but would not cut 
the tough beet-stalks and the men had to 
use their shovels. The real difficulty was 
encountered when they came to the barbed- 
wire entanglement. 

You must imagine a moonless night in the 
fields. No lamp posts here or lighted shop 
windows. The star shells make a lot of 
light but only for the benefit of our backs, 
for when we hear the slight noise they make 
in starting, we immediately throw our- 
selves flat on the ground with our chins in 
the mud. You will say: "Why don't you 

114 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

work when the moon is up?'* Unfor- 
tunately the moon is thoughtless and sheds 
her rays indiscriminately. When she is 
there the Germans see our silhouettes as 
plainly as we see theirs, and the only thing 
we can all do is to go back and hide. It is 
so dark sometimes that it is impossible to 
see a yard in front of one : then it is useless 
to try to put a hand through the barbed-wire 
entanglement to cut the grass and flowers. 

One morning at daybreak I came out of 
my hole and could see nothing but fog. 
From the firing trench one saw barely ten 
yards across the plain. At that hour the 
men are tired out, and they have every 
right to be. Yet I was greatly tempted to 
make use of this piece of luck and have the 
men, under cover of the fog bank, go out 
and remove the waving green screen grow- 
ing in the defensive barriers. I got hold of 
a shovel, jumped on the parapet, and said 
to one or two of the men: 

"Follow me." 

A quarter of an hour later twenty men 
had joined me and the work was quickly 
done. 

Opposite we could hear plainly the blows 
of mallets. The Germans were putting 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

up stakes in front of their lines. Only the 
night before a corporal had come and told 
the commandant of our company: 

"My Lieutenant, the plain is full of 
Boches. We ought to ask for the artillery/' 

Our friend, being a practical man, had 
answered : 

" Leave the Boches alone. We also want 
to be left alone when we work on the barbed 
wire." 

An hour later a volley came from a Ger- 
man post, in the direction of our workmen. 
It might have been a mistake, but more 
probably the enemy pioneers had finished 
their own work, and no longer needed pro- 
tection for themselves. 

That foggy morning seemed to me fav- 
ourable for revenge. I got all my men 
together and, to the great joy of those 
bearded children, said that we were going 
to administer punishment to the people 
opposite. But an inspiration came to me 
suddenly. What if by an unhappy chance 
there were some of our men in the field 
behind us ? They would receive the sharp 
reply of the German rifles. 

"Go and see," I said to a soldier. He 
came running and shouted to me: 
ii6 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

"Don't fire, sir, our whole company is 
out!'' 

"Are you mad?" 

"Not more than usual. They are search- 
ing for shell fuses." 

The fog then began to lift. For fifty 
meters around we could see our men, bent 
double, scrutinizing the ground. Here and 
there groups of three or four were climbing 
out of huge shell-holes. Others, stick in 
hand, solemnly, like magicians, were push- 
ing aside the grass as they walked. Usually 
at that early hour, having just swallowed a 
hot meal, they are sleeping soundly. But 
that day it was a question of getting some 
aluminium to make those little rings that 
they send to their wives, sisters, mothers, 
cousins, and fiancees. Soldiers are poets. 

I had to order them in. To console them 
I ordered the promised volley. 

"It will make them jump, my Lieu- 
tenant!" 

I don't know if many Germans danced, 
but I do know that they fired back at 
us furiously for a time. One would have 
believed it to be an attack, and my com- 
rades, awakened abruptly, could have 
strangled me for the false alarm. Thus 

117 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

ends my little story of grass cutting and 
fog: a few flowers less, a few rings more. 

Is it necessary to tell you about the beet- 
plants ? Ah ! They will leave recollections 
in our senses: touch, vision, and smell. 
During this war we have been saturated 
with beet-roots. Even our feet know them, 
those cursed things. I don't wish any 
civilian ever to repeat our night walks 
among these treacherous and slippery stalks. 
The strongest among us broke their legs 
at that work. 

At night they were a perfect nightmare, 
during the early days of the campaign. 
Their dark foliage was continually mistaken 
for German silhouettes. One of my young 
friends, who really has never known fear, 
said to me the other day: 

**Only once have I ever made the com- 
plete sacrifice of my life. I was in front of 
my section, and suddenly about ten feet 
away I saw a line of enemy riflemen. I 
told my men to lie down, I looked closely, 
and very clearly made out moving helmets. 
I took the only possible course and tried 
bluff. Alone, revolver in hand, I threw 
myself forward, shouting in German with 
all my strength: * Surrender! You are 

ii8 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

prisoners!' There were only beet-stalks, 
their heads nodding in the wind." 

There can be only one pleasant recollec- 
tion of the beet-plant : its perfume. 

One dreadfully hot June day I was 
hastening through the boyaux to join the 
officers of a neighbouring company, about 
five hundred metres from my post. One's 
chief wish for such paths in summer is that 
they might be rendered odourless. Vain 
wish when it is a much-frequented way. 
There are always dead rats, or garbage, 
insufficiently covered, rotting at the bottom. 
Bags of lime and buckets of disinfectants 
are emptied in the main and cross trenches 
frequently to safeguard the men's health. 
It is useless, however, to try to please their 
nostrils. The vegetation of the field hung 
down above my head and flimsy plants 
caressed my face to the right and left. 
Suddenly the air that I breathed seemed 
charged with honey. Little by little the 
sensation became so strong that I was al- 
most intoxicated. I shut my eyes in order 
to enjoy that wonderful feeling more freely. 
Was I in Greece, inhaling the wonderful 
odours of Mount Hymette? A shell came 
and awoke me from my dream with its 

119 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

unpleasant noise. I lifted myself up to 
look at the fields. Beet-plants gone to 
seed were the only visible objects. On their 
high, bushy stems, millions of little green 
bells, flowers or seeds — I hardly knew which 
— ^were warming themselves in the midday 
sun. They smelt wonderfully sweet. 
Henceforth a thousand recollections of the 
war will come to me whenever I smell a 
cake made with honey. 

Whenever my eyes shall rest on the nest 
of a mouse the recollections will be less 
cheerful, but the effect will be the same. I 
write "mouse"' as an euphemism. I mean 
all those small, unclean animals which are 
commonly called moles, field-mice, and rats 
of various sizes. At first we knew little of 
our companions of misfortune. The first 
visitors in our caves were the earth worms. 
I remember we were sitting in the dugout 
one day, on rickety chairs, which once 
belonged to the Boche and before that to 
our civilian population. Our backs were 
jammed against the wall, while in front we 
were nearly cut in two by the edge of the 
table. The opposite wall of damp earth was 
scarcely more than two feet away. The 
only light was from a candle of bad quality 

120 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

planted in a niche of the wall. Our menu 
contained cold fried potatoes (which is 
sad) and cold mashed potatoes (which is 
even sadder). All of a sudden a lump of 
earth fell in my pewter plate. We lifted 
our heads and there beheld, emerging from 
the earth, a little, wriggling worm, hanging 
like a pink tear. 

"Quick, a match!" 

An orderly scratched a match and ap- 
proached the hanging shred. We laughed 
like children. The creature was not accus- 
tomed to fire and acted like a puppy. It 
contracted and disappeared with such funny 
quick movements that the effect on our 
nerves was electrical. Entire matchboxes 
have been consumed in this manner. Some- 
times, when officers and orderlies were 
heaped together in the same dugout, begin- 
ning to get bored, one of the soldiers would 
say: "Ah, now we are going to laugh." 

He would take the candle and pass it 
along the walls. As each worm hastily 
withdrew, without waiting for farewells, 
peals of laughter would arise and the time 
would pass more quickly afterward. 

Now the worms no longer come to our 
beautiful, comfortable shelters. Instead 

121 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

we have moles in our boyaux. Lying on 
their backs, their little pink claws open, 
these dead animals have a better appear- 
ance than that of their cousins, the field- 
mice. Their round bodies, short and fat 
like frankfurt sausages, are entirely covered 
with silky fur. They look as if they were 
kittens. The mouth, a white spot about 
the neck, is all that can be seen of their 
funny little faces. Why all these little corp- 
ses every morning in the boyaux? They fall 
into these long corridors and are unable to 
escape the brutal feet of the soldiers. I 
should have thought them intelligent enough 
to get away by digging if they could not 
by running. Beside them lie quantities of 
crushed and disembowelled field-mice. They 
are no uglier to behold, ladies, than the 
horses of the picadores in the Spanish bull 
rings. 

The military authority who watches 
over the hygienic condition of the troops 
appoints a soldier called the taupier 
(mole killer), one for each boyauy whose busi- 
ness it is to take away all the dead animals 
and to bury them every morning. I know a 
ladies' hair dresser who accomplishes, with 
much distinction, this warlike function and 

122 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

who certainly won't reveal the fact to his 
fair clients after the war. 

Strange little animals! The war has 
multiplied them. The bread, the remains 
of meat and vegetables that the men throw 
around the camps and trenches, have al- 
ready stuffed several generations of rodents. 
Finding life good they have reproduced 
themselves rapidly. In the villages, rats 
as large as cats prowl continually in the 
barns where the soldiers are sleeping. 

"They look like calves, Captain.'' 

The person to whom this remark was 
addressed smiled. 

**You exaggerate, my boy." 

'* Not much, my Captain. But those mere 
animals won't bother me after all that I 
have seen." 

In the little room where I go every now 
and then to take my royal slumbers I 
noticed that I disturb the mice quite a 
little. I minded them at first, from force of 
habit. Now I let them play around me. 
Only once have I thought them too presum- 
ing. One of them had just run across my 
face, I still can feel the light touch of its 
little feet against my cheek. Another one 
was turning somersaults in my empty 

123 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

basin, out of which it was trying to dimb; 
the most practical one of the three was 
devouring my new sponge. Do you think 
that in time of peace and in civil life I 
should have tolerated such manners ? The 
war has made philosophers of us all. 

The field mice are less fortunate. The 
trenches attract them, but to their doom. 
For them a trench is a formidable precipice. 
They climb down the sloping side of a 
ditch with difficulty, but the side of a hoyau 
is vertical, and the animals who are out 
hunting at night have tragic falls when 
they attempt its descent. On arriving at 
the bottom a little stunned, they begin to 
look for some exit. Gradually they lose 
courage and putting their front paws on the 
wall, their little pointed faces turned to- 
ward the sky, frantically attempt to leap 
out. Many times under the beam of my 
electric lamp I have seen these terrified 
little animals madly running back and 
forth, throwing themselves at the side walls, 
jumping to the right and left, and even 
under my feet if I had not been careful to 
avoid them. The soldiers do not take the 
same trouble. It is simply: "Crunch! 
Another one !" 

124 



LARKS, POPPIES, MICE 

At the war one does not wear thin shoes, 
nor wipe one's feet on Persian rugs on the 
way out of the hoyaux. 

The dead mice play such an important 
part, even in the thoughts of the high 
command, that one day the chief of 
a neighbouring battahon sent by his aide- 
de-camp to the captain of a company at 
the front a note running thus: *' Urgent! 
There is a dead rat in the hoyaux. Please 
explain!'' It was necessary to take a sheet 
of paper and make a formal reply. An 
inquiry was made and it was discovered 
that the rat was a field mouse, which had 
fallen in the boyau after the prescribed hour. 
The taupier passes, according to orders, 
before eight in the morning. After that 
hour there is not a dead animal about. We 
had to own that that morning the com- 
pany had been presented with an extra 
field mouse and that we had not paid any 
attention to the fact. Bad business ! 

All these little beasts that have been our 
companions in misery will be remembered 
with a mixture of repulsion and tenderness. 
I was wandering last night in a section of 
trench when close by my ear a tuft of 
grass began to move. I turned quickly and 

I2S 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

found myself confronted by a funny little 
mouse. It is impossible to imagine anything 
more odd than our ceremonious interview. 
I kept serious. She watched me intently 
with her beady eyes, sitting on her haunches, 
her ears erect, her nose moving. She was 
trying to understand, and really so was I. 
She seemed to say: 

"What are we both doing here?" 

"Well, mouse, I believe we are both wait- 
ing for some violent death and that I am 
as miserable as you. With all my pride and 
this uniform, once handsome, but now 
covered with dust and mud, I am of no 
more worth on this earth than your little 
gray, trembling body. Then don't be 
frightened by my moustache or my big 
shoes; let us be friends!" 

" Let us be friends," she seemed to reply, 
nodding her head. 

"Good-night, little friend. If I come out 
of this I promise that in my soldier's heart 
you shall share a corner with the larks and 
the poppies." 



126 



STRENGTH 



VII 

Strength 

THIS war reminds us that physical 
strength is a desirable quality. 
For a long time we had been 
taught the contrary. Under the social- 
istic teachings of the Rights of Man one 
had neither desire nor encouragement to 
become strong. Beings, conscious of the 
superiority of reason, saw no necessity for 
a strong body and did not desire to see men 
of that type around them. They took pride 
in their physical weakness because it made 
their intellectual power more striking. 
Truth was ruler and Mars lay groaning 
under her heel. Our wise men disdained 
the argument of force and no doubt thought 
themselves superior to that law. 

There are natural laws, one of which 
encourages the strong to crush the weak. 
These laws are written in the book of 

127 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Science. Assuredly these opponents of 
Force know Science for they are always 
speaking about it. Have they never learned 
from it the action of Forces, and that in the 
relations of these forces to each other the 
most vigorous dominate and destroy the 
others? In the physiological order of things, 
one gives to this same phenomenon the 
name of the Survival of the Fittest. How 
Nature makes use of force does not seem 
to have arrested the attention of our 
philosophers. Anxious to find only demon- 
strable truths, they ignore one of the most 
certain. They idolize progress and refuse 
to see that its last word is the apotheosis 
of the strong. The mildest thing one can 
say is that they are inconsistent when they 
profess both love of science and contempt 
of strength at the same time. 

They dislike force because it is a reality 
which obstinately intrudes upon their 
dreams. They have decreed fraternity be- 
tween people and that the independence of 
Nations is sacred. The war is their answer. 

It is the same thing when it comes to 
individual strength. They have instituted 
equality. A man striving for equality does 
not want to be outrun or to outrun anyone 

128 



STRENGTH 

himself. He is free, but on condition that 
he respect the jealously guarded liberty of 
others. These are fine theories, but if one 
solitary individual trains his muscles, he 
can upset them all. 

For that reason envy is always on guard 
against strong people. Unhappily, those 
who are really superior are always the first 
suspects; while the field remains clear for 
those desirous of usurping power. When 
the war broke out we were living under the 
rule of brigands, plutocrats, C3mics, and 
rhetoricians. They fell furiously upon the 
beneficial forces, while the evil ones strength- 
ened themselves. 

The war will put everything back in its 
place and the just will render to strength 
the attention which it deserves. 

There exists no essential opposition be- 
tween right and force. A man who is right 
is worthy of respect. If he prove himself 
physically strong, he becomes splendid. 
His arms serve his spirit and his physical 
power enhances his moral power. 

Muscular strength does not necessarily 
involve intellectual debility nor does moral 
strength gain by physical weakness. Ath- 
letes are not necessarily imbeciles, nor are 

129 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

scientific people necessarily weaklings. One 
sees men with low foreheads parading in 
circuses, yet the most intelligent wrestlers 
are, after all, the best, and the reasoning of 
a man with a sound body inspires me with 
as much confidence as that of a man with 
a feeble one. The health of the body 
and that of the mind are naturally linked 
together. I love strength because I love 
health. 

What disgrace to our philosophers that 
in the years just preceding the war the 
best youths of our country disowned their 
teachings and became, not only religious 
and patriotic but reasonable and strong! 
When that reawakening, increased tenfold 
by the virtues learned from the battlefield, 
shall have produced its far-reaching effects, 
it will be interesting to search for its far- 
removed causes. I am sure it will be 
found that one of them is the taste the 
children of this generation have acquired for 
physical culture, beginning in their earliest 
years. 

Here at the front I most admire our 
young soldiers. A considerable gathering 
m the camp attracted my attention the 
other day. Last winter I had seen the 

130 



STRENGTH 

same number of men crowded into a smoky 
and odorous inn. Through the windows I 
had heard the nasal voice of some soldier 
comedian singing an absurd refrain. This 
time there was neither a word nor a 
sound. The whole village square was 
occupied by blue-gray soldiers standing in 
a circle and watching intently. 

" It's Courbier who is wrestling.*' 

"Is he good?" 

"Wonderful!'* 

"Let us pass." 

They stepped aside and we pushed our 
way through the dense crowd. Courbier 
was an infantryman and the camp was full 
of artillerymen who were looking on with 
profound admiration — the first reason for 
pride. He belonged to my regiment and 
to my company ; supreme satisfaction ! How 
handsome he was as he fought, stripped to 
the waist — his limbs supple, his eyes bright! 
I was, in particular, struck by the tran- 
quillity of his face, which remained always 
the same even when downing his breathless 
opponent. Real strength gives one a seren- 
ity which resembles that of^ happiness, 
even during the greatest activity. One 
after another the strong men presented 
131 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

themselves, removed their shirts, exhibited 
their muscles, frowned, and were thrown by 
this handsome lad. The audience ap- 
plauded. The performance over, everyone 
shouted praises of the victor and spoke of 
his marvellous exploits. These French, who 
are supposed to be envious, loved the 
strength of their comrade. 

Why haven't they developed their mus- 
cles in the same manner? They did not 
lack the desire: but their teachers had other 
things in mind for them to do. For fifty 
years sophisms and alcohol have been dis- 
tributed everywhere. Our race would be a 
fine one if it had not been spoiled in that way. 
The more profound attributes are being 
reborn in the war; the blood is regaining its 
colour and its richness. Men of thirty-five, 
old before their time, are being rejuvenated 
little by little. The corporal whose duty 
it is to parade the sick every morning 
for medical inspection very often has nothing 
to do. How easy it would be to set free 
the strength now merely latent in these 
men. 

They delighted me especially one January 
morning. The desolate little village which 
was to be our home for three days was 

132 



STRENGTH 

covered with snow. Big shells, bursting here 
and there, were making enormous spots on 
the roads and in the gardens, like blots on a 
white page. We went out during a quiet 
spell and one of us hearing shrieks from a 
farmyard, ran to investigate and came back 
saying: 

" Come quick, there is such a fight going 
on!" 

It was a fight truly. I found the men 
of my section, old and young, "firing at 
will" — using all their strength. Ammu- 
nition was plentiful; they only had to stoop 
and fill their big hands with snow. The 
balls thrown with a powerful sweep of the 
arm were finding their target against the 
backs or heads of comrades from another 
section. A bearded corporal, usually silent 
and sedate, was shouting and running about 
more than any of the others. 

"How is it," I said to him, "that you, 
too, are fighting?" 

"They are Boches, my Lieutenant." 

" But you are tired out ..." 

"Never mind; it is war — and we'll get 
them yet!" 

I don't know which side "got" the other. 
We stayed quite a long time, delighting in 

133 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

this extraordinary spectacle. Poilus are 
usually represented as shapeless, muddy, 
and heavy. They can be handsome, too, 
these *' types" — ^when they want to be. 

I found beauty in the ugliest man of my 
company one day. A rejorme^ with only 
slight training for the military service, had 
been sent to us in the spring. He bore on 
his face and form the signs of alcoholic 
heredity. 

After a few weeks the commander of his 
section declared that, although physically a 
runt, he would become an attentive and cour- 
ageous soldier. I questioned him several 
times, but in vain. He answered like a 
half-witted person and I wondered how 
that creature, mentally and physically im- 
perfect, could hold his place. But one day 
I found him in a boyau with a shovel in his 
hand. He had taken off his coat, his shirt 
was open, his sleeves rolled up, his cap on 
the back of his head. His hair was matted 
on his forehead by perspiration. I was 
struck by the easy movements with which 
he took the heavy earth that his comrade 
had dug, and threw it out on the top of the 
bank with his shovel. It seemed as if he 
were using his muscles with artistic per- 

134 



STRENGTH 

fection for the joy of my eyes. There is 
no dance as graceful as the gesture of the 
blacksmith beating the anvil, or that of 
the ploughman wrestling with the earth. 
Without his strength this poor wretch 
would be only a waif, unworthy of living. 
He has not succumbed to his intellectual 
misery and the apparent decrepitude of his 
physique, because when very young he was 
taught how to use a shovel. He will carry 
the imprint of his father's faults and vices 
to his grave but, because his muscles have 
been cultivated, a little beauty will always 
shine under the repellent mask which marks 
his origin. 

It is natural that we should love strength 
here. Success on the battlefield goes to 
the most daring, but only if his limbs 
be trained to serve his courage. The 
war is a school for the soul and for the 
body. We are not good soldiers because 
our cause is just, but because we have clear 
minds backed by solid fists. 

When I was twenty I prepared for my 
degree at the "Faculte d' Aix." One even- 
ing a friend and I were conversing under 
the ancient trees of the Cours Mirabeau. 
We were wishing for a war. We were talk- 

135 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

ing philosophy instead of poHtics. We felt 
that life was too soft and were trying to 
find a means of giving back courage to the 
men of our time and to ourselves, who 
were no better than the others. We came 
to the conclusion that, at the bottom of 
human cowardice, there lies an instinct 
which God has put in our souls but which 
we must not abuse : the instinct of self pres- 
ervation. In order to remain alive and to 
preserve our precious flesh from every 
scratch we have made life comfortable. 
The aim of our ambition has become ma- 
terial well-being, and happiness means a 
bed of cotton wool. 

"To that, my friend, there is but one 
remedy: let us charge the Prussian bayonets 
with uncovered breasts." 

"And be pierced by them?" 

"Oh, no! We will bayonet them! But 
when one has been ready to sacrifice one's 
life, one no longer finds one's happiness 
only in sleeping comfortably, but in living 
bravely." 

Thus the constant protection of his body 
abases man. When his skin has met trial 
by fire and weapon, he becomes once more 
a noble creature. 

136 



STRENGTH 

Since that day I have conceived a great 
respect for strength, without which courage 
is useless. This youthful conversation has 
left an imperishable trace on my soul. I 
still remember the name of my friend but 
I do not know how life has dealt with him. 
If he is serving to-day, with what ardour 
must he be fighting and offering his life ! 

The strength of a nation is made up of 
the strength of its individuals. At this 
solemn hour when it is a question of winning 
from the German race — so numerous, so 
methodically trained — our past faults hang 
like weights on our arms. But we are a 
strong people whom we have vainly tried 
to degrade. We will dominate the enemy, 
and when we have obtained peace, we 
shall know how to prevent the misuse of our 
power. 

To our misfortune and that of Europe 
we disdained strength. If we had called 
columns of robust men to support immortal 
France and if, with strong arms and sound 
brain we had demonstrated our valour, it 
is doubtful whether the nations would be 
at war now. 

Those among us who return will teach 
their sons the value and beauty of strength. 

137 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 



VIII 

''the god of the Armies' 

5l N OFFICER entered the cathedral 

Zjk of A at six in the morning. At 

JL ^ eleven he would be in his trench at 
the front. He must remain there fifteen 
days — fifteen days without being able to 
seek religious comfort save in the little church 

of C where he was usually quartered. 

His train was due to leave in forty minutes. 
He had time only to pass rapidly through 
the wonderful building, to say a short 
prayer, and fly. But the grandeur of the 
place arrested him. The day was barely 
breaking and had not yet penetrated these 
vaults. At the end of the immense nave the 
flame of a candle flickered. By its light a 
priest was officiating, alone and distant. 
His face came out in black against the 
brightly lighted page of the prayer book. 
A soldier was moving near him, giving the 

138 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

responses. An old woman was dusting a 
few chairs. It was the right time and the 
right place to approach God for whom all 
souls are longing during these tragic days. 
The booted visitor postponed his exami- 
nation of the cathedral until another time. 
He had broken his fast, but the fasting law 
had been abolished for those who are 
fighting. He searched his conscience rather 
rapidly, in a soldierly manner, and ap- 
proached the old woman. 

"A confessor please, Madame.'' 

"At this hour? What are you thinking 
about?" 

"Why not at this hour?" 

"There is only the vicar here now and 
he is saying mass: surely you can wait?" 

Charming creature! He looked at her 
without exhibiting his distaste. There is 
always an advantage in keeping calm in 
adversity and his wisdom was at once 
rewarded. 

"There is a soldier over there if you 
insist. He is a priest." The officer was 
for a moment a trifle upset, and stood con- 
sidering. 

"All right," he said, "ask him." 

The old woman trotted off to get the poilu 

139 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

who, on his knees, was praying in the rear 
of a column. After a few words with him 
she signalled to the officer to go into the 
vestry. 

The latter found the soldier awaiting him, 
standing at attention. He timidly lifted 
his bearded face and saluted; then squarely 
meeting the eyes of his superior, said : 

"My Lieutenant, here it is." 

He pointed to a devotional chair, and 
the penitent having saluted in his turn 
fell on his knees. 

Never had the words of absolution seemed 
more sacred. I do not wish to play upon 
the emotion of the reader by speaking of 
the tears of the officer as romantic writers 
would do. The fact is, nevertheless, that 
they were burning his eyelids when the 
priest said softly: 

"Go in peace, my son, and pray for me.'* 

Immediately after these words the priest 
stood up, and heels together, head erect, 
saluted. The officer returned his salute 
gravely. 

A few moments later he had received 
communion and we met at the station. 

We boarded the same train. I had just 
been enjoying two days leave of absence. I 

140 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

had been home, kissed my children, and now 
was on my way back to the firing line, like 
a child returning to boarding school. But 
one is reasonable at my age and instead of 
moaning at the new separation, which 
might prove a long, perhaps even an eternal 
one, I was living over, in rapture, the 
hours that I had just enjoyed. The train 
stopped — necessarily so, as the next station 
was in the hands of the Germans. We 
started on foot toward the camp. Lost in 
thought, we were walking at a good pace, 
along a road bordered with hedges, when a 
terrific noise suddenly startled us out of 
our revery. Two hundred yards away a 
105-millimetre shell had just burst. Thus 
the war tore us away from our pleasant 
dreams and impressed its violence on our 
senses and in our souls. 

At the risk of astonishing you, I must 
tell you how we felt, believe me who will. 

We both saluted war as an old friend — 
lost and found once more ! Our cheerfulness 
was so great that I was at first ashamed of 
it. Then I remembered how once, after a 
long voyage during which I had run con- 
siderable risk and experienced exceptional 
emotions, my heart had sunk when the 

141 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

port of Dunkirk had appeared in the dis- 
tance under a peaceful sky. 

It was that same phenomenon, but this 
time inverted: with the same cause, only 
the taste for danger. 

We all hate the whistle of the bullets, 
and yet the daylight has barely left before 
we climb out on the trench parapet. The 
feeling experienced in facing peril; the 
pride that one takes in holding oneself 
erect, without bending an inch, in the fields 
where the simplest prudence commands one 
to lie flat on the ground, have nothing to 
do with heroism. The chauffeur who risks 
his life for the pleasure of speeding is not 
called heroic. I recognize in my desire 
for danger the liking for forbidden fruit, 
and perhaps there is more vice than virtue 
about it. 

However, I am thankful to say that I 
found something else, more noble in our joy 
at again encountering war, that day. 

The ordinary coat and bowler hat are 
exceedingly ugly. When one has for many 
months seen only soldiers in uniform, 
civilian garb appears ridiculous. I well 
remember the stupefaction with which I 
gazed on the first civilian I encountered 

142 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

after long months at the front. With two 
comrades from the engineering corps, I 
had just arrived at A by motor-car. 

"Gracious, how ugly!" said one. 

**And to think that when peace comes we 
will have to go back to that!" said the 
other. 

It is impossible to deny that, in some 
ways, war is a more noble spectacle 
than peace. It is beautiful in the same 
way that a great fire may be beautiful. 
Nature is beautiful in spite of her peace- 
fulness, but a city in peace mars its beauty 
with mediocrity and vice. If immodesty 
in the dress of women, and hideousness in 
that of men, are manifestations of Peace, 
then war is preferable. 

I came back to war as to the most thrilling 
of spectacles. The whole world is eagerly 
watching it. Those in the first row are the 
only ones who really see it, and I am going 
to resume my place there. The front is 
the special gallery in which the privileged 
ones are allowed to stand, while the crowd 
is struggling to see from the rear. For two 
days I had turned away from that choice 
position and already my frivolous brain 
had assumed other cares. The bursting 

143 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

of the shell was like the gavel of the stage 
manager, and my soul became attentive 
once more. However, it could remain pious, 
too, because the war stimulates the soul 
and helps it to ascend from the dust. Up- 
ward, toward what? Happy those who 
believe in God. I pity those who do not. 
Someofthem are the victims of despair; while 
some instead of putting their trust in the 
Master, as we all ought to do, put it in 
empty words in which they find no comfort. 

Enemies of God do not exist at the front; 
they are found only behind it. Anti- 
clericalism begins timidly back toward the 
kitchens. It is a little bolder around the 
supply depots and I learn by letters from 
the rear that it is loudest in the cafes in the 
provinces. From the Lys to the Vosges it is 
unknown. 

It is undoubtedly the nearness of our 
neighbour. Death, which has accomplished 
this miracle. It may not seem a noble 
thing or creditable to religion for one to 
turn toward it only in times of fear or danger 
of death. Sailors are supposed to be more 
devout than other men because they are 
exposed to more risks, yet I have known an 
old sea captain who believed neither in 
144 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

God nor Devil. I was on board his ship 
one day crossing the Raz-de-Sein. He, too, 
loved danger and, although it was an im- 
prudence, in order to gain a little time he 
took the shortest route and risked the loss 
of his ship. Never have I heard a man 
swear as he did that day. I was young 
and unable to understand how a man could 
be blasphemous while facing death. 

Take other examples which will bring 
you back to the war. Do you consider all 
the victorious armies which have made 
history for France aggregations of saints? 
Do you think that the grognards of Napoleon 
painted by Raflfet have devout faces? If 
Virtue, caught in a trap, begged you to offer 
her a refuge, would you dare take her to 
a soldiers' camp? 

No, it is not danger which lifts one toward 
God, nor is it even the fear of death. Dur- 
ing our entire life we are in danger, and 
death spies upon us, beginning at the cradle. 
We are aware of it, but few of us give it any 
attention. The cabin-boys on ships cross 
themselves on leaving the harbour and then 
forget. Soldiers, when they hear the first 
bullets, know what will happen if they are 
hit: but habit influences them and frivolity 

145 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

wins them back. Sailors, soldiers, civilians 
at the rear, we are all, sometime or other, 
condemned to die. The important thing 
is to realize it. 

The truth is that religion flourishes when- 
ever men pause and begin to think. Be- 
cause this war is being carried on by people 
who are not professional soldiers, each one 
has been uprooted from his normal place 
and consequently from his routine. It has 
put each one in such a novel position that 
even those most limited mentally are anx- 
ious to understand what it is that is happen- 
ing to them. They are forced to think of 
their destiny and, willingly or not, they 
turn to the God whom they learned to know 
and pray to at their mothers' knees. 

Curious things happen every day. Once a 
comrade received a large parcel from a pious 
woman whom he knew only slightly. We 
helped him to cut the string and open the 
box. The arrival of the post is always the 
most important happening of the day and, 
invariably, everyone is there prying into 
one another's boxes. He — or, more strictly 
speaking, we — took out in turn: socks, soap, 
pencils, patriotic post cards, a candle, a 
pipe, a box of chocolates, cigarette paper, 

146 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

packages of tobacco, large plaid handker- 
chiefs and woollen helmets. At the bottom 
was a big envelope bearing these words: 
**To a soldier of France." It contained 
this classical letter from the unknown bene- 
factress : 

** Dear soldier, please accept these souve- 
nirs. Take care of yourself and be brave. 
We love you and are praying for you.'' 

Pinned to the top of the letter was a 
medal of the Holy Virgin, one of those 
penny medals, rather ugly, but of large size 
and very vivid. 

All these things had to be divided among 
the men. The next day, in the trench, my 
friend selected a group of soldiers and went 
toward them with extended hand. He had 
in it the pipe, one package of tobacco, a 
wonderful cake of soap, and the medal. 

The eyes of the men brightened but they 
hesitated. Among them was an extraor- 
dinary character, a kind of gutter-snipe, 
who came from the neighbourhood of Lille. 
His face was that of a cut-throat with the 
blackest, most piercing eyes imaginable. 
Our Northern gHs frequently have beauti- 
ful dark eyes, a souvenir of vthe time of the 
Spanish domination. The eyes of this boy 

H7 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

were, however, wicked and inquisitive. He 
had a low forehead, ugly lips, and a Christ- 
like beard. His most striking features were 
his cheeks, which were always swollen 
with a mouth full of tobacco. He loved 
to chew tobacco. Every time he met one 
of us he always asked: 

''Et ch'toubaque?" 

Which meant: **My Lieutenant, give 
me a little tobacco." It was the only way 
he could say it in his jargon. It was im- 
possible to refuse him after looking at his 
eyes. Usually they were cunning, but he 
could make them so humble and funny! 

"He will certainly snatch the toubaquey" 
thought I. 

I was not mistaken about the snatching. 
He snatched something before any of the 
others could have a chance, saying: 

"Afi, j'prinds VmedaU' (Me, I take the 
medal !) 

Quickly he dropped the Virgin into a 
filthy purse. 

This happened quite near the beginning of 
the winter. I had not yet lived long enough 
with all these men to understand them well. 
I must own that my astonishment sur- 
passed all limits. 

148 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

To-day I know that they all have medals; 
some keep them in their pockets; some, 
around their neck; others, pinned to their 
shirt; a few, on their coat; many, on the 
front of their caps. They also have flags 
and enamelled badges of the Sacred Heart, 
with blue borders, white background and, in 
the middle, a red heart surmounted by a cross. 

When I first came I was told that a cer- 
tain corporal was an anarchist and to be- 
ware of a certain soldier who was an anti- 
militarist and a revolutionary. Both of 
these men, like their comrades, have these 
emblems pinned on their chests. 

I know a sergeant, a great, big, warm- 
blooded fellow, from the regular armj^ 
He is always too hot, and, besides, his coat 
gets in his way. He is always roaming 
around the camp or in the trenches in his 
sweater. On that sweater I have counted 
eleven medals of all shapes and colours 
hanging to two or three safety pins. 

Probably their wives, mothers, and sis- 
ters send them from the rear. But why 
do they wear them so readily? And why 
such ostentation when, in civil life, their 
greatest care was to hide the little Chris- 
tianity they possessed? 

149 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

At first I misjudged them. I remembered 
how the Norman peasants tie medals around 
the necks of their sick calves, hoping to cure 
them in that way. I thought: "They are 
superstitious and think all that tin is of 
great worth in God's eyes. They fear 
death, and to preserve themselves they 
cover their bodies with fetishes and amu- 
lets." 

This may be true, to a certain extent, 
but it is not all the truth. There is a cer- 
tain amount of real piety in all devotion 
to medals. Many of these emblems are 
revered in memory of the dear ones at home, 
who said when their men went away on 
that fateful second of August: "Take 
that and keep it on you always.'' It is 
the only reminder of home except for the 
greasy photographs always carried in their 
pockets. 

That reminder is a religious image and 
they are quite willing to cherish Our Lady, 
or Saint Michael, or Joan of Arc, on account 
of the old mother or the wife who is crying 
at home and who writes such moving letters. 

Do not let us abuse the rear. It is from 
there that those letters which restore our 
courage come. No later than this morning 

ISO 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

2L soldier showed me one he had just re- 
ceived. It was from his wife telHng him, 
in words that he did not understand, of 
some trouble she was in, in regard to her 
allowance from the Government. I did not 
exactly understand her difficulty, but I saw 
that the poor woman was unhappy al- 
though trying to be resigned. She is going 
to have a baby and spoke of her sadness at 
not being able to have her "man" with her 
for the birth. She wrote: "Let us pray 
God to make the child I bear a good 
Christian." It is a beautiful sentence. I 
wondered while I read it whether the poor 
woman had not instinctively found the 
most perfect way of serving God. Her 
religion touched me as much as that of my 
medal-bearers. 

There are two elements in the devotion 
we render God: the spirit and discipline. 
A perfect Christian not only thinks but 
acts his religion. When he thinks: it is 
spiritual. When he acts: he practises his 
religion and obeys its commandments. 
Most Christians are only men and, there- 
fore, imperfect. 

There are those who emphasize the spirit- 
ual, and whose thoughts are continually 

151 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

dwelling at such lofty altitudes that they 
neglect altogether the practical aspects of 
religion. Such are the authors of neo- 
christianity and new thought. They pur- 
sue a nebulous God, in a nebulous sky, but 
would disdain to seek him by kneeling in a 
church. 

But during the years just preceding the 
war there has been a real reaction toward 
practical Christianity with the emphasis 
laid on discipline. Many young sons of 
theorists or sceptics began to attend church 
services, say their prayers, and go to com- 
munion frequently. In their every-day life 
they were gay, merry, and fond of out-of- 
door sports. They enjoyed physical and 
moral health and were not bothered by 
hazy anxieties nor endless speculations. 
They were Christians and followed their 
religion; that was all. 

This kind of religion is perfectly well 
adapted to the life we are leading at present. 
What would happen if we engaged in con- 
tinual speculations regarding our military 
duties? As soldiers our task is to use our 
entire efforts in performing them. It is the 
same with our Christian duties; this is not 
the time for discussion but for prayer. 

152 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

There are here two officers, far, far above 
me in rank, who evidently have this same 
idea. I occasionally find them at twilight 
walking in a solitary boyau telling their 
beads. They are very much embarrassed 
when they see me and must respond to my 
salute, and evidently regard me as an in- 
truder. Yet sometimes I stop to talk be- 
cause here, the least word exchanged brings 
joy and pleasure. When I leave, they resume 
their prayer although they do not know ex- 
actly where they left off, and then they forget 
their troubles, the war, and everything else, 
in proclaiming to the Virgin, with the stars 
to witness, that they bow to her and that her 
Son is blessed. 

I have never attended an open-air mass, 
but it must be highly impressive. In the 
war area I have seen nothing but low mass, 
held in the little church, back near our rest 
camp. The participants are usually two 
or three small groups of soldiers, with per- 
haps an officer or two sitting in the front 
row and sometimes an old woman close to 
the pulpit. A soldier officiates as priest 
and, from beneath his surplice, protrude 
his uniform and huge military boots. At 
the end of the service each one receives 

153 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

communion. Although not numerous, the 
prayers of these faithful people ought to 
protect the others. I am sure that God 
must regard with a kindly eye these camps 
from which, each morning, ascend a few 
devout prayers. 

On the Sundays when we happen to be in 
the rear of the lines, resting — which occurs 
but rarely — ^the church is full. On Easter 

day we were in camp at M , where the 

church has been damaged by shell fire. 
The big nave is pierced and the main altar 
open to the sky, while the choir is littered 
with plaster, broken pieces of iron, and bits 
from the fallen roof. The altar on the 
right is broken. The one on the left has 
not suffered, and toward it is turned the 
attention of the crowd in uniform which 
has gathered here to-day braving the 
draughts, coughing loud and praying little. 
However, they are an attentive audience, 
submissive to the articles of the creed, 
and obedient to the commandments of 
the church. Can one ask more of people 
whose heads have been crammed for so 
many years with the materialistic the- 
ories of the demagogues. We may blame 
those who lead and guide public opinion 

154 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

but not those who follow. The latter have 
been misguided by their very virtues: 
willingness and simplicity of heart. When 
they pin medals on their shirts they perform 
a positive act beside which piles of books, 
written by denying philosophers, are only 
trash. 

When a poor woman, on the verge of 
becoming a mother, thinks of praying God 
to make her child a good Christian it seems 
like a miracle, for it is a long time since any- 
one has spoken like that in France. She 
does not ask for a saint, but for an honest 
boy, and naturally the old words, used by 
her grandmother, come back to her lips. 
She says "good Christian" for "good son" 
and renders thus to God and to religion 
a homage compared with which the finest 
monument is of little value. 

What is the explanation of this new birth 
of faith, this return to the words and 
practices of old ^. It is the fruit of all our 
past efforts and sufferings of the sacrifices 
made during the difficult years France has 
3assed. I do not wish to criticize the 
eaders of the Church, but it is the more 
lumble pastors who obtain their reward 
to-day; those who have "held on" as we 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

say at the front; those who, in spite of 
opposing wind and tide, have been good 
pilots, in the words of our brothers the 
sailors; those who have steadily opposed 
the arguments of the sophists and, in spite 
of all, maintained the simple traditions 
of the Church and the precepts of Christi- 
anity. They erected shrines at all the 
cross-roads, and the crowd passed by 
without respect. To-day, in the general 
devastation of war, the only thing left 
standing upright is the cross. 

Come and see it with me. It is in the 
centre of an immense plain, bordered on 
the German side by a shallow valley. For 
a distance of four kilometres one can see 
nothing but land — once cultivated, but now 
desolate and wild. A thin curtain of 
foliage opposite hides a village held by the 
enemy. Far away to the right a row of 
young trees indicates a road. It is only the 
slimness of these trees which has saved 
them. All the others have been cut down 
and used to line the dugouts or cover the 
trench shelters. One never meets a living 
soul, for those who go to or return from the 
front pass by way of the boyaux which bur- 
row in all directions through these fields. * 

IS6 



''THE GOD OF THE ARMIES'' 

Come! You need not hesitate; at this 
distance the bullets have spent their force. 
If the Germans see us through their field 
glasses jand send a few shells our way, there 
will be time enough to throw ourselves in 
this boyau, which, although unnoticeable, 
runs along this road only four yards 
away. Now look; above that rise of the 
ground, which hid it until now, stands the 
thin silhouette of a cross. It is of iron 
and the Christ is dolorously bending his 
head. About its base are four stumps cut 
off almost level with the ground. They are 
all that remains of the beautiful trees which 
once sheltered this pastoral shrine. It 
stands alone amongst a labyrinth of boyaux. 
All around are shell-holes filled with muddy 
water after the rain. 

From this place, at night, you can see 
the illuminating shells of the Germans as- 
cending not only from one but from three 
sides. Our trenches, in this region, curve 
forward in a salient. It is as if the enemy 
had been obliged to draw a respectful half 
circle round the image of Christ. 

Let us go nearer. Resting on the pierced 
feet is a bunch of withered flowers. How 
came they there, and when? Perhaps the 

IS7 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

soldier whose piety urged him to leave this 
offering is now occupying one of the graves, 
marked with small white crosses of wood, 
which are lying all about; or, if he be 
alive, he may be over there digging in some 
boyau, or on guard duty in some trench, 
watching, that all France may sleep behind 
him. Whatever the case, some man has 
lifted his eyes toward this image and one 
day has even prayed there. 

At the change of guard we pass beneath 
the extended arms of this Christ, on the 
way into the front line. I don't know 
whether many of us say a prayer to Him 
when we cross his gaunt shadow in the 
moonlight, but God will remember the one, 
be he ever so humble, who once put down 
his flowers and called on Him there. He has 
commanded that His image be not destroyed 
and that it remain here on our horizon. 
With head gently bowed and wide-open 
arms, He watches over the dead of the plain 
and blesses the living, devout or otherwise 
who — covered with dust, their backs bent 
under the weight of their knapsacks — ^go 
in long, silent columns to take their fighting 
post. 



158 



BRAVERY 



w 



IX 
Bravery 

'HY is it that the French show so 
much bravery in war and so Httle 
in peace? 

Everyone here is courageous. There has 
been great discussion as to which re- 
quired the more courage — going forward to 
the assault, or holding on under heavy 
artillery fire. I don't hesitate to give my 
own answer: the moral courage exhibited 
by certain territorials in keeping cool under 
the most pitiless trench bombardment is 
even more admirable than the ardour of 
their younger comrades while running for- 
ward to a bayonet charge. This war has 
required from an entire nation in arms 
qualities which never before had been de- 
manded even from regular armies. 

Almost all regiments have adopted dogs 
found in some abandoned village. Our 

IS9 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

company has two or three, one of which 
lives with the officers. He is a good-looking 
animal, supple, playful, and a marvellous 
rat hunter. He is amiable with men but 
very quarrelsome with his brother dogs and 
does not hesitate to attack even the biggest 
and strongest. This beast, enthusiastic in 
assault and a heroic fighter, would be a model 
of warlike virtues if he weren't afraid of 
the cannon. Poor dog! When a bomb 
bursts he puts down his ears, his tail goes 
between his legs, and he hides under our 
legs, pressing against us, trembling and 
timid. Nearly all dogs behave in this way. 

It is the same with the black people, 
they love to fight with the knife and are 
not afraid of the most bloody struggle, 
but under the shells they often lose courage. 

One must have intelligence and reason- 
ing power to resist the fire of concealed 
artillery, whereas instinct is enough in open 
fighting. I do not despise instinct. Natural 
courage is a gift from God. It would be just 
as foolish to despise it as to disdain in- 
telligence. It is an enviable quality, but 
unequally divided among men. Those who 
possess it have an indisputable advantage 
and they become leaders. But in measuring 

i6o 



BRAVERY 

relative courage in the mass of the French 
people what I esteem most is hardly ac- 
quired bravery. The strongest enemy is 
not opposite, in the German trenches, but 
inside each one of us. Man becomes noble 
when he conquers his own cowardice. 

And it is not a matter of conquering it 
only once. Warriors of 1870 told me in 
my boyhood that one "dodged'" the first 
bullets but that later one grew so ac- 
customed to them that one stood straight 
up when they whistled by. It is not 
always true. I know some officers whose 
courage, on the contrary, has been worn 
out on the battlefield. It is necessary to 
make renewed efforts at each succeeding 
danger and I don't think that the baptism 
of fire ever has the power to harden the 
soul for all time. At present those who 
have braved hardships and danger through 
so many months have developed a great 
love of life. It seems all the more precious 
to them because they have escaped so 
many perils. At first they shut their eyes 
and offered themselves to destiny. Now 
those who have survived think they are 
chosen to participate in the wonderful joys 
of the triumphal return. Thinking of that 

i6i 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

blessed and longed-for day reminds me of a 
sentence I have often heard, even from 
the humblest soldiers: "The last man to be 
killed is the one I pity." 

One has repeated a thousand times that the 
cry in this war is " Hold on." It is not easy 
for each hour brings new temptations. On 
the days of activity the soul is elevated 
above all weakness by the intoxication of 
fighting, but each day of passive trench 
warfare only serves to renew one's misery. 

Fearlessness before death is one virtue 
which I would not include among those which 
will remain when the war is finished. We 
are like people who have become accustomed 
to travelling on railways without apprehen- 
sion of danger. Suddenly an accident 
occurs. Once frightened, they are doomed 
to travel for a long time with a feeling of 
nervousness. Ordinarily, one does not mind 
the first shells. That is the period of heed- 
lessness of danger through which we nearly 
all pass. One day the noise gets too loud for 
one's nerves. One's teeth begin to chatter 
and there is no remedy. As the war goes on 
there are some whose physical uneasiness 
grows instead of diminishes. Each time 
that they overcome it their character grows 
i6z 



BRAVERY 

and they show themselves more courageous. 
But when peace comes they will have had 
enough and the smell of powder will give 
them no pleasure whatever. 

Yet it will be no time to falter, for 
when the day comes and we have escaped 
the risks of death which assail us here, the 
great thing will be to remain brave through 
life. Shall we succeed.? Is it possible 
that the word *' bravery," under different 
conditions, can refer to two different kinds 
of virtue .? It is curious that in time of war 
self-interest may produce courage, while in 
peace it causes only cowardice. 

In a village, where I happened to be 
before the war, an old woman was being 
buried. She had deserved universal venera- 
tion. All the men, dressed in their Sunday 
black, came and awkwardly saluted the coffin. 
The procession started and everyone bowed 
as it passed. I could not but admire the 
tribute paid to this old woman by the 
entire community, rich and poor alike. 
They came to the church. The little square 
was full of sunlight. The priests in their 
surplices, the assistants in white, disap- 
peared beneath the portico. The singing 
grew fainter and died away among the cool 

163 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

arches. The coffin entered the holy place 
followed first by the school children and 
then by the women. When the turn of 
the men came, I was surprised to see them 
turn slightly to the left and gather a few 
yards away under a tree, while the doors 
of God's house were slowly closing. 

Did these men know how dreadfully 
they slighted the dead woman? Did they 
realize that, because they were afraid of the 
anti-clerical element then in power, they 
were committing a displeasing, disloyal, and 
cowardly action ? 

This group of careful citizens did not 
seem noble to me that day. Their courage 
had left them because a delegate from the 
sous'prefecture might have seen them and 
if they had acquired a reputation as church- 
goers it would have been the end of hopes 
of advancement from the anti-clerical offi- 
cials. 

I remember that I regarded them as so 
many waifs to be pitied and that I de- 
spaired of ever elevating a people which was 
only actuated by self-interest. 

Here at the war that same self-interest 
has proved a marvellous influence. One 
must distinguish voluntary heroism from 

164 



BRAVERY 

enforced heroism. The former is the better 
quahty. It consists of choosing, of one's 
free will, the dangerous posts. Those who 
have voluntarily enlisted, although not 
compelled to serve, and those at the front 
who, in spite of relatively safe duty, are 
always seeking patrol duty in **no man's 
land," or equally perilous missions, are 
brave among the brave. But others who 
may have hoped to escape the mobilization, 
and who, in the dangerous hours, go to 
the second line and try to make themselves 
smaller in the hope of evading detection, 
also become brave when they cannot do 
otherwise. Let us not despise their courage 
for it is the only kind possessed by the 
innumerable people we call the crowd; when 
one speaks of '* the brave French " one speaks 
of them. Despite the enthusiasm with 
which they are made, our troops have not 
requested the privilege of making those 
attacks which the world admires and our 
adversary dreads. It is because they have 
been ordered to go, that everyone tries to 
become a hero. The poor fellow who 
began in fear ends in a wild intoxi- 
cation of valour. He did not willingly 
seek adventure but it is his because he 

i6s 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

cannot escape it. Self-interest demands 
that he face the peril. Forward then! He 
feels his neighbour's (elbow against his, and 
his comrades' eyes upon him. He dare 
not advance less valiantly than they; his 
pride goaded by his interest, he tries to 
arrive before the others and show himself 
the finest of all. 

There are no more two kinds of bravery 
— one for war and one for peace — than 
there are two kinds of self-interest. The 
apparent difference is the fault of the 
leaders; it is they who play on the strings 
of the human heart in order to make it 
cowardly or valorous. 

Leaders influence a man by appealing to 
his own interest, but not always toward a 
worthy end. In the war those who com- 
mand have their minds fixed on the public 
good. They show the right way to all 
and thus create rivalry in performing duty. 
In peace time the contrary occurs although 
the public good should be equally im- 
portant. Everyone then follows the fash- 
ionable lead. Here and there a few bold 
characters may defy it, but the crowd is 
piteously enslaved. I no longer blame the 
people now that I have seen how they will 

i66 



BRAVERY 

follow to the assault, but I bear a bitter 
grudge against those who mislead and 
guide them downward, when they could as 
well guide them upward to almost any 
height. The war shows us that men are 
good or bad according to how they are 
directed, and that good government can 
make great people. 

If after the victory we create a new con- 
dition of affairs and the forces of the nation 
are at last well organized and managed, the 
heroism shown here will have schooled us 
to display the same virtues in peace. Then 
let the elite cultivate bravery on the battle- 
field, not only bravery before death, but in 
the face of all risks and all responsibilities. 

Life will severely try the courage of the 
boldest soldiers. When they come back 
covered with honour, ribbons, and medals, 
they must not at the first difficulty fall 
back into the old weakness. 

There used to be one form of cowardice 
which in particular we must avoid. We 
created childless homes, in spite of the 
knowledge that everything commands us 
to have children; the Motherland as well 
as our instincts. Children are the chief 
source of joy and strength, but we thought 
167 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

only of the trouble involved or the money 
required. We were afraid. The women 
also were afraid. They feared the suffering 
or the responsibilities. Men and women 
were equally weak in facing life. Instead of 
painfully putting aside a small fortune for 
an only son to squander they should have 
used the same effort in raising a family of 
many children and left them a heritage of 
real value: strong arms and brave hearts. 

France depopulated herself on account of 
these brave men whom the whole world 
now admires and who will be covered with 
laurels on the blessed day of peace. To 
make them retain their more noble in- 
stincts, they must continue to strive in peace 
as they did upon the field of battle. 



i68 



THE ENEMY 



^he Snemy 

\Y FIRST it was William! 

ZA The train which took me to 
X ]k. Arras at the time of the mobiliza- 
tion ran through rich fields which were 
being harvested. Here and there a few 
old men and children, almost prostrate 
from the heat, were binding stacks of 
wheat while numbers of ruddy-faced women 
lined the fences enclosing the railroad and 
shouted: "William's ears!" 

More than one mobilized man at that 
time thought that with a little luck, in some 
fight, he might come near enough to the 
Kaiser to amputate his ears and offer them 
to these ladies! 

The English, when their trains were being 

cheered, never forgot to make two gestures : 

they seized a pair of imaginary mustachios 

with one hand and, with the edge of the 

169 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

other, pretended to cut their throats. The 
German Emperor's throat was slashed in this 
manner throughout the time of the mobiUza- 
tion of the first British army. 

It was necessary for the popular anger 
to have an object. The day before peace 
had been reigning. Not only did one not 
expect war but one did not even want to 
think it possible. It burst out suddenly. 
Whose fault was it? 

Not that of the Germans, assuredly. We 
had forgotten there ever were such things 
as Germans. To be sure years ago one 
spoke of the Prussian menace, but that was 
an old story. The Germans could not be 
our foes. Our people were all too busy 
quarrelling at home to make enemies 
abroad. When the war broke out they 
felt more hatred against their neighbours 
than against a far-away and hypothetical 
people like the Germans. Let the mili- 
tarists write long articles about the com- 
ing German invasion through Belgium and 
y beg that the town of Lille be fortified: 
the cunning peasant was busy protecting 
his farmyard against the intrusion of his 
! neighbour and cared little for anything 
else. 

170 



THE ENEMY 

Our people recognized only one German: 
** William/' Hence he must be the one to 
blame. Besides, the loosing of such a calam- 
ity could only be the work of a tyrant. 
The ignorance of the crowd served only to 
augment its prejudice. I joined in singing 
the Marseillaise on the second of August 
but with more ear for the tune than for the 
words. Nevertheless, a few words, a few 
phrases at the station brought tears to my 
eyes. 

"Le jour de gloire est arrive! 
Aux armes citoyens!" 

Other lines seemed to me less appropiate: 

^^Contre nous de la tyrannie 
V etendard sanglant est leve" 

Many good people have been moved to 
tears while repeating these words until lately 
so long out of use. A despot being in the 
business, there was only Kaiser William and 
they thought that it was against him in 
person that the whole of France was rushing 
with a song. 

Other people went further. They took 
pity on the Germans who were being misled 

171 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

by a bad master and started a campaign to 
free them from his despotism. The news- 
papers hailed us as the champions of 
Liberty fighting to emancipate the German 
slaves, whereas it was really French liberty 
'^ desperately trying to escape the German 
yoke. With pride they looked forward to the 
punishment of William and the establish- 
ment of a German Republic. If we establish 
a Republic over there — or several Republics, 
as I would prefer — it is not the Emperor 
whom I wish to see most punished but my 
enemy, his people. The Kaiser is only an 
object for ridicule. 

One day a new word ran from mouth to 
mouth. Our troops had encountered the 
adversary, not in the guise of Caesar, but 
in that of an innumerable horde. Whence 
came THESE men, and who were they? 
They were nicknamed "the Boches," and 
in our cries, in the long nightmares of 
feverish nights, "Boches" replaced *' Wil- 
liam." We at last knew our enemy. 

Why that nickname for the Germans? 
Very few of my comrades knew it before the 
month of August. I first heard of its exist- 
ence toward the end of 191 3. I had been 
visiting at Saverne at the time of the deed of 
172 



THE ENEMY 

the infamous Forstner. I realized how in- 
evitable and near the war had become. 

Passing through Nancy on my return, I 
was exchanging impressions with some 
young friends, when one of them said : 

"As a matter of fact the 'Boches' are 
absolutely unbearable." 

"The what?" said I 

''Tht Alhoches . . . ." 

I am sure that all those who have tried 
to find an ingenious explanation for this 
new word in etymology have gone astray. 
The French word for "German" is ^' Allc' 
mand'' This was changed to '^Jlbocke" by 
the men because it was a kind of play on 
the word and the syllable "Boche" ex- 
pressed derision because it rhymed with 
such terms of contempt as: ^'caboche, mochey 
bidoche," and a crowd of others. Later the 
first syllable was dropped to make the word 
shorter and more adaptable to rapid speech 
in the same way that a name is contracted 
into a nickname; only the word Boche re- 
mained. That it hits the nail on the head 
is shown by the universal favour it has ob- 
tained. 

What are the sentiments of our men 
toward this flesh-and-blood enemy they 

173 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

have found suddenly opposed to them? 
They hate him; but I am uncertain whether 
it is because he is German or because he is 
on the other side of the Hne. 

When two teams of players are opposed, 
there immediately arises a feeling of hostil- 
ity. What begins as friendly rivalry may 
rapidly change to jealousy and terminate in 
enmity. This occurs among all classes of 
people and even in armies. An artillery- 
man makes fun of an infantryman, and the 
"poilu" who is stagnating in his trench 
calls the gunner *' si acker" because he is 
concealed a little distance behind the front. 
In a regiment different companies may 
have quarrels. A captain one day sent a 
note to one of a neighbouring sector asking 
him to look after his men who were exceed- 
ing their boundaries in looking for firewood. 
He added that he would be "Unmerciful 
to soldiers from a FOREIGN company if 
found on our ground." It was necessary to 
ask him whether his note was intended for 
French trespassers or for those from the 
line opposite. 

In fact, the greater part of our men, 
suddenly surprised by the war, are not 
yet prepared to recognize the German as 

174 



THE ENEMY 

V a blood enemy; they only hate him because 
he is their adversary, and that is not enough. 
There is among us a good fellow with a 
kind and calm appearance. At the outset 
of the campaign his section was caught in 
a tight situation at a very short distance 
from a line of enemy sharpshooters. He 
threw himself into a huge shell-hole from 
where he could, without great danger, shoot 
at the devils in helmets as they advanced. 
The rest of the section — condemned to an 
inglorious inactivity until the order came to 
show themselves on the ridge — sought shel- 
ter in a ditch a few yards to the right from 
which they could watch their comrade. 
He was shooting as if on the target range — 
loading, aiming, and firing with exactly the 
same precision. He said afterward that he 
had made wonderful scores. But the re- 
markable thing was the expression of greed 
and pleasure he showed each time a man 
fell. His mouth opened in a smile from 
ear to ear and his eyes sparkled. He 
looked like a little boy sitting down before 
a mountain of cakes. That man, who in 
civilian life perhaps never even wanted to 
see death, was actually laughing while 
killing Germans. 

175 



COMRADES IN COURAGE ^ 

One evening in camp I made the ac- 
quaintance of a little sergeant who had 
just returned to the front after being 
wounded on the Meuse in the great re- 
treat. 

"May we not smoke one last cigarette 
together?^* he said, holding out a ciga- 
rette. 

It was a joke. He had thought so often 
during the first weeks that his last day had 
come, that now, whenever he smoked, his 
comrades repeated gaily: 

"Maybe it is the last!" 

His thin face surmounted by blue clouds 
of smoke, the young brigand told me hor- 
rible stories of the war. I remember 
chiefly the story of a great big Saxon 
oflScer who had suddenly appeared, revolver 
in hand, ten yards away from a French 
column. "He was sheltering his fat body 
behind a big tree," related his executioner; 
"he protruded a grimacing face and aimed at 
us. I was in front. I brought my gun to 
my shoulder and fired. He fell with a 
horrible cry. Then, mad with joy, I ran to 
him and turned him over to see the wound 
my bullet had made. I assure you it was 
a large one, it had done its work well." 

176 



THE ENEMY 

I looked at him, his eyes were turned 
toward the sky and he seemed to be expe- 
riencing an almost supernatural joy. 

"Do you work for a butcher in civilian 
life, my friend?" 

He answered that he was a student of 
theology. Since that story, and that of the 
vicar adjudant, I never feel assured when 
I ask people their profession. 

There is not a soldier at the front who 
could not recount twenty similar anecdotes. 
They prove only that we are fighting 
mercilessly an enemy who has been pointed 
out to us. 

"My Lieutenant, could you loan me ten 
francs on a Boche?" 

The general commanding that army who 
needed prisoners from whom to obtain 
information had announced that any sol- 
dier who brought back a German to our 
lines would receive a premium of fifty 
francs. A man with a reputation for 
drunkenness decided to go and win the 
reward in order to buy himself wine. He 
kept his word, but before starting he was 
anxious to get a little money in advance 
to brace his nerves. He was very funny as 
he stood with his hand extended and a 

177 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

cunning air. We decided, some friends and 
I, to refuse him what he asked. A few days 
later a patrol was ordered, and he asked to 
take part in it. He brought back a remark- 
able Boche as prisoner, a huge fair fellow, 
apparently well educated, and who told us 
that he had been a clerk in an important 
Dresden bank. He showed us pictures of 
his wife and three children; a good-looking 
family. We examined with curiosity this 
specimen of the innumerable Germans living 
in the ground across from our lines, who are 
at the same time so near and yet so distant ! 
Such a deep chasm separates us from these 
people who, within sound of our voices, are 
defiling and trampling our soil. Behind his 
blue eyes there was concealed a violent 
emotion. To get him alive it had been 
necessary to kill two or three of his com- 
rades. The only reason why the young 
woman whose portrait he had shown us 
was not a widow at that moment was 
because with fifty francs a man can buy 
wine enough to last a good many days. 
** Hello! Tell us how you took him." 
" I put my hand on him and held on tight. 
He did not want to come, the miserable 
specimen, but I got angry!" 

178 



THE ENEMY 

He stopped and I thought he was again 
going to throw himself on the prisoner. 

"Steady," said the commandant. '*Con- 
tinue." 

"I made him run in front of me and 
kicked him whenever he wanted to stop. 
You needn't be afraid, my Commandant, 
he has had all that he wants " 

There followed a queer exchange of looks 
between the big dreamy-eyed German and 
the little French gutter-snipe. 

"All the same," the Frenchman added, 
"fifty francs is not very generous for a man 
of that weight." 

And yet that man, in spite of his violent 
words, is not a determined enemy of Ger- 
many. Drunkard though he be, he makes 
a satisfactory soldier and will fight,^ not 
only anywhere, but against anybody. 

There are times when one can look at 
the enemy without hatred, I have seen a 
crowd of soldiers go and visit a still-seeking 
battlefield in the same way that other 
people go to a fair. On the second of May 
one of our lines had to bear the brunt of an 
intense bombardment, followed by the as- 
sault of a strong reconnoitring party. The 

179 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

resistance of our comrades was strong and 
successful. A German officer fell in the 
trench itself and thirty-five dead bodies re- 
mained just outside the parapet. The affair 
had begun in the afternoon of Saturday. The 
next day the weather was beautiful, and from 
all the neighbouring sectors soldiers and offi- 
cers came in Indian file to see the dead. 

It is perhaps the only time that a Sunday 
has seemed really a holiday. Sundays, at 
the front, are days just like the others, only 
much sadder for that very reason. This one 
stood alone; it seemed as if everyone was 
idling around, waiting for some band to 
play. Yet at the same time the dead 
officer, a Lieutenant of the Guards decorated 
with the iron cross, was lying neglected in 
a narrow passage — his uniform, where it 
had not been torn by the barbed wire, 
stained with mud and blood. We stepped 
over the body and went our way. Our 
conversation showed no trace of emotion. 
We are here at the war to kill the Boches; 
so we kill them and that is the end of it. 

However, if I ask the sergeant-major, he 
will tell me that he felt very sad the day 
that young officer from the Grand Duchy 
of Baden was killed just in front of him. 

i8o 



THE ENEMY 

The latter was scarcely more than a child 
and had shown courage and gallantry in 
action. There was infinite pathos in watch- 
ing his death struggle on the plain. 

Now let us question that tall sergeant 
who is standing on tiptoe to see better 
from his trench. 

*'What are you looking at?" 

"There is a Boche parading over there. 
I have a good mind to kill him/' 

"Well, don't hesitate." 

This man is a very good shot. He aims. 
We all watch. The silhouette totters and 
disappears. I leave the place shivering. 

When will these warriors, so courageous 
and ardent in the fight, find out why they 
are here? How long will it be until they 
learn that their mission is to teach a race 
that it cannot prey on others ? 

I see twoways of considering the Germans. 

They have qualities which we lack: we 
must study them in order to acquire their 
virtues. They have faults which we hate: 
we must make these public in order to 
indicate the actual source of our enmity. 

Of their good qualities our soldiers have 
recognized the principal one; the only one 
that matters. 

i8i 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

The Germans are organized. The whole 
of their big country is a beehive where 
everyone, in his designated place, works for 
the good of the Fatherland. The affairs of 
the individual are secondary to those of the 
State. However, if the State is well 
governed and vigilant, all interests profit 
in their turn, and the individual fortunes 
benefit from those of the nation. 

Our soldiers do not comprehend all that 
clearly: they have scarcely known the 
Germans long enough to think about them. 
They do know, however, that they en- 
countered a machine, so powerful and so 
perfectly organized that at first they were 
dazed. It is difficult to understand how 
the moral courage of the French was able 
to withstand the shock when they first en- 
countered German method and German 
foresight. Do not let us be stingy in our 
praise; I will makesretractions enough pres- 
ently. Germany, at the time of her niarch 
on Paris, won for herself the unwilling 
admiration of the world. Her immortal 
failure on the Marne and the hatred which 
she has aroused since have not yet effaced 
the remembrance of those first days. Is 
power of organization a German quality 

182 



THE ENEMY 

or is it the result of their system of govern- 
ment? The Germans, ahhough laborious 
and precise in their ways, are naturally in- 
clined toward intellectual disorder. While 
France — queen of nations when she is prop- 
erly governed — was abandoning herself to 
revolutionary dreams imported from the 
other side of the Rhine, Germany was 
benefiting from a monarchy frankly model- 
led after ours. Anarchy is German. Order 
is French. Temporary fashions have in- 
verted the roles but other fashions will 
restore them when we learn their relative 
importance. 

Our sky is at last beginning to clear. The 
mass of the people still remains ignorant 
and there are yet many dishonest leaders. 
A great lesson was necessary to instruct the 
former and unmask the latter. Our enemies 
have brought it to us. 

Have you travelled? Have you ever 
entered a big European or American port 
without a tightening of the heart? Our 
merchant marine has been blotted out and 
French people have lost all interest in it. 
One doesn't bother about ships when one 
stays at home, but when a patriotic French- 
man finds himself some day in one of those 

183 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

immense harbours where the shipping of 
the world comes and goes, and when he sees 
fluttering in the wind the flags of all nations 
save his own, he begins to think. He 
comes home resolved to make this shame 
public, to beg people to look about them 
and come out of their torpor. He has to 
fight against easy talkers who reason with- 
out seeing and deny the facts when they 
interfere with their beliefs. There is one 
sure way to convert them: put them all 
aboard big ships and make them travel 
about the world. The spectacle of how 
other nations are flourishing probably would 
make them blush and cure them of their 
folly. 

The Germans, uninvited, have rendered 
us this service. It is hard to see them on 
our soil, but at least we have had the 
opportunity to study them more closely. 
We have been watching an armed nation 
organized for invasion and for murder. 

There is not a man in our trenches to- 
day who does not deplore the slackness of 
French institutions compared with the 
powerful organization of such a neighbour 
and who does not realize the necessity of 
a step back toward order and toward 
184 



THE ENEMY 

strength. This is what the sight of the 
enemy has taught us ; and it is much. 

We have opposite us a regiment of the 
Prussian Guard and are greatly honoured. 
Although picked soldiers, not all of them 
speak the French language. There are 
some among us who know German. When 
the exchange of words between trenches 
begins in the latter tongue, one is more 
quickly and better understood. The great 
number of us, however, derive most joy 
from conversations in French. It is neces- 
sary to understand each other in order to 
exchange tobacco and newspapers. But 
who will go out of the lines ? The Boches 
invite a Frenchman to make the first step. 

"Come on! Nous ne dirrerons has," 
(Nous ne tirrerons pas — ^We will not fire!) 

They roll the "r" and accentuate the 
"i" in pronouncing these words. They 
X-Biy emphasis on the ''pas'' ("not'') in a dis- 
dainful manner. 

"No! You come, we have some cigars." 

The affair is rarely settled because, on 
the German side or on ours, an officer passes 
and orders silence. 

One day I asked a bold fellow, whom I 
had caught flirting in this manner with a 

i8s 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

distant Prussian, why he hesitated to go out 
on the plain between the Hnes and chat a 
Httle with his opponent. Another soldier 
had tried it only a few days earlier. The 
two men, the Frenchman and the German, 
had gone out at noon under the watchful 
glances of about a hundred of their com- 
rades from both camps. Many fingers, 
no doubt, rested on the rifle triggers, ready 
to shoot if either one made a menacing 
gesture. They had spoken of the war and 
of the suffering of the soldiers; then they 
had lighted cigars and returned. 

"I don't trust them." 

"And why?" 

"They have too much method those 
people^ " 

He explained to me that the Boches 
would be quite capable of throwing them- 
selves suddenly on the ground to let their 
friends shoot. One way the Germans have 
of employing their machine guns has greatly 
impressed our men. At first we used to 
attack without much prudence. The Ger- 
mans would retreat and seem to be fleeing 
before our bayonets. We would follow 
them until they had led us into a trap, 
whereupon they would suddenly unmask 

1 86 



THE ENEMY 

some machine guns and begin firing mer- 
cilessly. Many boys fell in this way. The 
very few who escaped felt anger mingled 
with admiration. 

"They have thought of everything, the 
scoundrels!" 

I say "scoundrel" because I want to be 
polite. What they really say would 
scarcely bear repeating. Our poor soldiers, 
so brave, so frequently dismayed at the 
way the Germans were allowed to organize 
themselves, often express that sentiment. 

"Look, my Lieutenant, that balloon over 
there is Boche. It is only they who can 
imagine such things." 

It was at the outset of the war when, for 
the first time, we saw one of their sausage 
balloons. From a distance it was difficult 
to determine whether it was above our lines 
or theirs. 

"It is Boche! It is surely Boche! In- 
deed they have thought of everything. 
And then it is so ugly: it must be theirs." 

Ugly or not there is some good in the 
"sausage" and now we have them, too. 
But the soldiers would have liked it better 
if we had not had to learn that lesson, along 
with many others, from the Germans. 

187 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Please note, however, that we surpass them 
when we imitate them. They had illumi- 
nating rockets; ours now are better than 
theirs. But early in the war they were the 
only ones who could send up fireworks in 
the night, much to the humiliation of our 
own soldiers. 

One of my comrades was wounded in 
August, 1914, during the German march on 
Paris. He received five bullets in his arms, 
shoulder, and legs. The Germans cap- 
tured the ground on which he lay and he 
was first cared for in a German ambulance. 
Then came the retreat after the Marne. 
The invaders, in running away, left the 
French wounded behind them. My friend, 
after getting well, has consequently come 
back to occupy his place among us. But 
he has seen the famous Von Kliick army 
close at hand and here are his two chief im- 
pressions. 

As he lay on the ground, he saw a line of 
enemy sharpshooters coming toward him. 
They were walking elbow to elbow, rifle 
in hand. Would they respect a fallen 
officer? His feet were toward them so 
that he could see the entire manoeuvre. 
As the line approached it divided, the ranks 

188 



THE ENEMY 

opening to right and left, and passed by his 
body without touching it. If they had 
seen him they avoided him as they would a 
bundle of dirty straw. Their eyes were 
fixed, full of anxiety, and seemed lost in the 
distance. Their hands trembled. Terror 
was depicted on their pallid faces and they 
were not attempting to conceal it. These 
victorious warriors were wild with fright. 
Our poor troops had been taken in an 
ambuscade and were obliged to withdraw 
while the enemy pursued with chattering 
teeth and each man pressing against the 
next for comfort. There are many cour- 
ageous people among the Germans; we 
have not got a monopoly on bravery, but 
as a whole they are not courageous. ^ One 
of the wonders of German organization is 
that it can have disciplined such people, 
even unto death. 

However, the infantry was still advancing 
and, after it, came the artillery. A bat- 
tery of 77-millimetre guns unlimbered a 
few yards away from the wounded man. 
German officers came up and surrounded 
him. He was questioned with quite a little 
courtesy, while a lieutenant brought some 
straw to protect him from the sun. The 

189 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

guns opened fire on his comrades who were 
retreating in the distance. What painful 
moments were those to my friend! His 
undressed wounds pained him much less than 
the proximity of those energetic men intent 
on killing French people. One of them seized 
just that moment to come and talk to 
him. 

"France is lost, that is certain! We 
are going to take Paris, my friend. I know 
Paris as well as you. I have worked there, 
my comrades also, for a long time. We 
have prepared everything so that we will 
be well received. You had not foreseen 
anything; so much the worse for France! 
You wear red trousers: a stupid fault which 
the Germans would never have committed. 
Nothing can resist an organization like ours 
and I pity you to be fighting against such 
a formidable civilization!" 

He continued like that for a long time 
until my friend finally fainted away partly 
from suffering, partly from loss of blood. 
However the words of this German were 
full of truth. 

Yes, their organization nearly proved too 
much for us and it has been a good lesson. 

Yes, their civilization is formidable, not 

190 



THE ENEMY 

only for the French but for the whole of 
humanity. 

The fault of this man, one common to all 
his race, lies in not distinguishing the dif- 
ference between the two words he has 
uttered. He knows that one of the ele- 
ments of civilization is order, consequently 
organization. And as the only civilized 
quality he possesses is that of application 
to methodical work, he proclaims that 
virtue sufficient for all. It is termed in 
French "taking a part for the whole"; and 
in all languages "making a mistake." 

A good man, in France, in the Seventeenth 
Century was one who possessed a fine gen- 
eral culture and polished manners, who 
led a straight life, and was agreeable to 
meet. He was a civilized man in the fullest 
sense of the word and utilized these qual- 
ities of heart and mind in increasing his own 
happiness and that of others. 

A man of that type is perfectly "organ- 
ized." But our neighbours thought it 
would be better to replace this internal 
harmony of the individual, which is the 
source of all civilization, with a happier 
social organization. They therefore created 
wonderful systems of law: but the only 

191 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

people who could obey them were the 
Germans. 

The inhabitants of old Germany lack the 
French qualities of clear intelligence, wit, 
and good taste which, without effort, refine 
and elevate men above their fellows. They 
have other virtues but they do not com- 

?ensate for the precious ones they lack, 
hey realize this and are envious, like poor 
relations. 

Believing themselves to be despised by 
others, they have cultivated love of self 
to the extreme. They began to worship 
their own methods and to proclaim them 
supreme. Their great qualities of in- 
dustry and obedience made them strong 
and they deified that strength. To-day 
they think they are the right arm of God. 

In order to correct them we must know 
them. Let us examine them at war since 
it is in that line that they are now operat- 
ing. They have wonderful tools — that we 
acknowledge; but what kind of intelligence 
is there behind this imposing machinery? 

Let us take Rheims as an example. It 
has been said that if the roles were reversed 
and we were besieging Kohn we would 
destroy their cathedral there, just as they 

192 



THE ENEMY 

have ours at Rheims. I am sure of the 
contrary. German reasoning is well known : 
all damage caused to the French contributes 
to the final success; the more cruel the dam- 
age the better it serves their purpose. This 
method of calculating is apparently right. 
It contains the logic of war; the harder you 
strike, the earlier you will have peace. No 
German therefore can hesitate m front of 
Rheims. He sees at once that the cathed- 
ral is a jewel and moreover a sacred place, 
the temple of the holiest of French tra- 
ditions. The enemy can be injured both 
morally and materially by knocking down 
those stones. The supreme aim of the 
war can thus be pursued. It is an excellent 
theory and he sets about placing his guns. 

If the French were before Kohn they 
would reason also, but in a different man- 
ner: It is good to demoralize the enemy, 
but it is possible to exceed the mark and, 
by certain vexations, so to irritate him 
that his morale is raised instead of lowered. 
It is a simple problem but a German is 
incapable of solving it. We will not de- 
stroy Kohn, even as a reprisal. We will 
preserve on the battlefield the faculty of 
seeing beyond the war. The executioners 

193 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

of Rheims should be punished in Kohn, 
but it is not necessary that the whole of 
mankind be made to suffer for the fault of 
only one people. Let us respect that which 
is the universal patrimony of the world but 
when the hour of settlement arrives, let 
us wrench the town and its temple away 
from the Germans as a ransom for the walls 
where our kings were crowned and which 
they have destroyed! 

We have been given knives, great brigand's 
knives. Many among us who were familiar 
with the use of the rifle, revolver, bayonet, 
or sword were at first surprised to find these 
new weapons in their hands. They were 
the weapons of murderers and it was neces- 
sary to get accustomed to them. They 
are useful for fighting in the hoyaiiXy and 
for that barbarous operation known as 
** cleaning the trench." Oh it is not pretty! 
We are soldiers, but we have never been 
butchers. Yet the only thing to do is to 
accustom ourselves to it: it is the German 
law! 

They claimed that in war might creates 
right. It is our enemies who with a blind 
stupidity have violated one by one all the 
rules established by the loyalty of many 

194 



THE ENEMY 

generations to their ideals. When a unit 
of troops, rapidly advancing, has taken a 
first line of trenches and has to go on to the 
next, there is not time enough to disarm and 
render powerless the prisoners they are 
going to leave behind. In the olden days 
the rules of war would have forced these 
defeated people to remain harmless. But to- 
day one knows that, obedient to the laws of 
Germancivilization, they will be treacherous. 
It is therefore necessary to slaughter them. 

In the French army there are probably 
soldiers who will pillage if given the chance. 
If we advance into Germany, acts of van- 
dalism may be committed, here and there, 
by our men. They will have a certain 
excuse as being reprisals, but what matter.? 
A crime is never excusable. In that case 
France will, like any other nation, deserve 
criticism for not being able to stop certain 
excesses. The Germans are the only people 
who consider themselves above reproach in 
that respect. Excesses, when it is their 
army which commits them, change their 
name and become simply methods of war- 
fare. Doctors, learned in German "Kul- 
tur," have already woven wreaths for those 
who have committed them. 

195 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Our soldiers from their dugouts see all 
this, but how much of it do they under- 
stand? Nothing very positively. An in- 
stinct moves them to hate these people who, 
they feel, are brutal, coarse, and different 
from themselves: a precious instinct but 
that is not enough. 

The war over, writers and speech makers 
will begin to praise the Germans for their 
efficiency and power of organization and 
will tell us that after all the Boches were 
only defending themselves and that we 
cannot expect people to fight with flowers. 
With clever leaders I can imagine a cam- 
paign of German rehabilitation rallying 
some partisans in France within a few 
years. We must prevent that. 

The crowd always sees facts but never 
discerns their causes. It must be the un- 
ceasing duty of the more enlightened to 
point out the chief cause behind everything 
that happens. We must systematically 
work to learn thoroughly the German soul, 
so that we may interpret the acts of the 
German people. Honoured be those who, 
since the war, in books or in newspapers, 
have made their contribution to this new 
fund of knowledge. But, in the meantime, 

196 



THE ENEMY 

aided only by our judgment, we can dis- 
criminate between that which is an un- 
avoidable act of war and that which consti- 
tutes a German crime. 

In the barracks we used to give moral 
talks for the benefit of the men, which 
were nothing but useless words then. We 
have more useful lessons to spread abroad 
to-day. Let us teach our soldiers to know 
the enemy who lies buried in the ground 
opposite our lines. Let them admire his 
industry, discipline, foresight, and love of 
order; they are confronted with the greatest 
demonstration of these qualities ever before 
made. If they feel hatred let us give them 
the real reasons for their anger. Let us 
arm them against the stupid argument: 
"They are men like us." The German 
people are not like us. There is in their 
psychic processes a fault which, to French 
people, will always make them odious 
enemies in war and insupportable neigh- 
bours in peace: they are not intelligent. 



197 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 



XI 
Intelligence 

OUR men are intelligent. It is wrong 
to call them "poilus." That coarse 
name does not suit them and they 
do not like it. It evokes images of hirsute 
and savage faces. The French soldier, 
even when bewhiskered, remains an alert 
fellow, with a bright eye and a saucy 
repartee. Only once have I met a captain 
who spoke of his men as "poilus" and he 
was not a real soldier. It is literature 
which has made that name fashionable. 
Here another is in vogue. We say "Our 
types'' or "What a type!" 

Among one another they often speak of 
themselves as bonhommes. But that is a 
name for peace time. At the front the 
rather thick crust of the bonhomme falls at 
the first encounter and the type emerges. 
By the word "type'' one means: a queer 

198 



INTELLIGENCE 

fellow, a remarkable specimen, or an original 
character. All of our soldiers have deter- 
mined faces. They are full of character and 
always interesting. There is one trait 
common to all: intelligence. But what 
varied forms of it they possess ! 

Sometimes I am angered by what seems 
to be imbecile reasoning on their part but 
in that case it is not the brain which is at 
fault but the spirit which is weak. Some 
talk nonsense because truth is compromising 
or troublesome. With others, pride is 
responsible; they wish to appear well in- 
formed and begin talking of things of which 
they are ignorant. Wit and good sense are 
our great national riches. They should be 
utilized toward the best end. 

At the outset of the winter our company 
was designated for a dress parade in a 
neighbouring camp. We were delighted. 
Only a week before we had caught a brief 
glimpse of that very event in passing 
through a village on our way home from a 
march. The troops were drawn up in a 
hollow square with the flag in the centre. 
Facing the flag was a group of officers and, a 
few yards away, the hero of the occasion — a 
tall captain, dressed in a fine blue uniform, 

199 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

his head proudly erect. He was waiting to 
receive the war cross and the accolade from 
his chief. The guns were booming all 
around, but above their din could be heard 
the shrill fanfare of the trumpets opening 
the ceremony. We had to turn off at the 
first cross-road and so lost the pleasure of 
seeing the remainder of the spectacle. As 
we marched away we all listened, trying to 
make out, above the noise of our steps on 
the road, the dying notes of the brass 
instruments which were joyously publishing 
the glory of a soldier. In our ranks there 
was not a sound, only now and then the 
quick jump one takes to get back into step. 
We sought consolation in marching to the 
rhythm of the far-away music. 

So to-day there is to be dress parade 
again and at last it is our turn to enjoy the 
beautiful spectacle. We march off cheer- 
fully only to learn on the village square 
where our men have stopped with a happy 
stamping of heels, that we are to be the sad 
witnesses of a military degradation. 

It is quickly over for it is a depressing 
business. There are a few brief orders, the 
companies line up around the square, facing 
inward. A deathly silence reigns. It is cold. 

200 



INTELLIGENCE 

"Present arms!" 

The men hold their faces rigidly for- 
ward but their eyes shift curiously toward 
the little street from which the condemned 
man is going to emerge. He appears, 
surrounded by six guards with fixed bayo- 
nets. He has a low forehead, a flat nose, 
and a brutal chin — a chin such as I have 
never seen before — long, flat, shaped like a 
spatula. Long legs, narrow shoulders, his 
arms drooping as if from the weight of his 
enormous hands, he looks around like a 
caged animal. The clerk of the military- 
court reads in a loud voice, with much 
rolling of the r's an interminable in- 
dictment in which the name, christian 
name, age, domicile, and profession of the 
wretched man recur frequently. We learn 
the names of his father and mother, and 
that he has three children. He has de- 
serted the front to go and drink and make 
merry at the rear, while his comrades were 
fighting, suffering, and dying. He is there- 
fore condemned to ten years of prison: he 
well deserves it. 

An officer approaches and says in a low 
voice : 

"Who is the senior first sergeant?" 

201 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

"It is I." 

"Come quickly." 

The non-commissioned officer thus called 
steps out of the ranks. He runs forward 
and plants himself in the middle of the 
square, his sword shining in the sunlight. I 
look at him while the dull reading con- 
tinues. His features have altered. His 
face, which first was red, is now pale and 
determined. His lips are grimly closed. It 
is his mission to carry out the sentence of 
degradation and it is evident that he is 
deeply moved. Others might have a feeling 
of disgust, but this reservist, whom we have 
learned to love for his heart of gold, takes 
his duty more seriously. He understands 
that, for an instant, he is going to incarnate 
France herself and that it is only as her 
instrument that he is to punish one of her 
unworthy sons. His comrades who witness 
the act will find in it a lesson. He must 
strangle all sensibility and perform the 
sacred rite nobly and firmly. 

The commandant turns toward the con- 
demned man and cries in a loud voice: 

"You are not worthy of remaining a 
soldier. We degrade you." 

Then quickly, nervously, the little ser- 

202 



INTELLIGENCE 

geant approaches the wretched man and 
begins to tear off his buttons and insignia. 
They come off with difficulty because, for 
lack of time, it has not been possible to 
loosen them beforehand as is usual. It is 
war! The man sneers because in order 
to make the task more difficult he has 
attached two of the buttons with wire. But 
the material finally gives and the sergeant, 
having finished, steps back into the ranks. 
Then with measured steps, surrounded by 
his guards, the degraded soldier is paraded 
before our ranks. In the emotion of the 
moment the sergeant has forgotten to re- 
move his cap. One of the soldiers in his 
escort suddenly noticing it, knocks it off with 
a brusque gesture. The lamentable proces- 
sion has soon covered the ground. In front 
of a wagon two gendarmes receive the man 
whom the army thus casts out. 

Just then a ray of sunshine breaks 
through the clouds and falls on our faces 
like a caress. We march off, our souls 
heavy with thought. Suddenly a joyous 
bugle call resounds. The notes — alert, gay, 
and wild — make our hearts leap with their 
dizzying echoes. We feel a common pride 
in the fact that we are good soldiers. We 

203 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

have rejected a wretch unworthy of us. 
We have seen how one must pay for being 
a traitor to one's duty. But just the same 
life is beautiful. France is glorious, and 
now we go proudly to our destiny, with our 
heads erect and our lungs drinking in deep 
breaths of the pure air. 

A quarter of an hour later we had settled 
down to our tireless "route step." I was 
at the head of my company and so com- 
pletely lost in thought that very soon I 
found myself among the rear men of the 
preceding company. 

"Good morning. Lieutenant.'* 

" Good morning. What company is this ?" 

"The iron company, sir Captain N . 

All brave men." 

"Then you are getting on all right?" 

"We are getting on the best we can, sir. 
We laugh but we are quite unhappy just the 
same." 

"Of course; so is everybody." 

"We are like that poor chap." 

"Whom?" 

"The one who went away with the 
gendarmes. Ah! He is only a luckless 
fellow, not different from us." 

I thought I was dreaming. 
204 



INTELLIGENCE 

I had just profited from a great lesson 
and I supposed that all these men had 
taken it to heart the same as L It had 
been such a clear lesson: crime punished 
and despised in the guise of torn clothing 
and disgrace. Duty and discipline honoured 
amidst the glorious tumult of the trumpets 
and rows of gleaming bayonets reflecting 
the rays of a friendly sun. I had marked 
off two kinds of men: on one side, that 
wretch, and on the other, the brave men 
who performed their duty — ourselves. 

My soldier also saw two classes, but they 
were the strong and the wretched. 

I studied him. He was handsome and 
strong, with straightforward eyes. I ques- 
tioned him to see what he was really worth. 

"And from home, is there good news?" 

"Myhome?'\ 

"Yes, your wife, your children?" 

"They struggle on." 

"How many children have you?" 

"Three." 

"You are like that man then." 

"Oh! it isn't the same thing!" 

"Beg pardon! You said you were all 
luckless fellows." 

"Yes, but we don't make them throw us 
205 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

into prison. One grumbles but one does one's 
work. You mustn't make that mistake." 

"It is true he didn't look very honest, 
the bonhomme,'* 

"Honest! He was disgusting. People 
like that ought to be shot." 

"And don't people like you deserve to be 
punished?" 

"Why, sir?" 

"To teach you how to talk. What were 
you bragging about just now? You were 
a 'luckless fellow' just like the other." 

"Oh, that was talk. When one talks it is 
well to appear wise. But all the same one 
understands things and one is different from 
the slackers." 

You may say that that man was only 
stupid. I regard the crowd to which he 
belongs as imbecilic. In France you will 
find most men intelligent, but submerged 
by the collective stupidity. When a man 
speaks he wishes to appear wise! Under 
an orderly government, popular wisdom 
would urge people to cultivate virtues. To- 
day people think it clever to side with crim- 
inals. They are still at the period of Victor 
Hugo's "Les Miserables." They have been 
told that they ought to pity and excuse the 
206 



INTELLIGENCE 

outlaws — they do it, although, privately, 
each one knows the difference between right 
and wrong. Assembled in herds the poor 
"types" follow the bad shepherds. Intelli- 
gence is not what they lack, but char- 
acter. 

"They don't realize a bit what is going 
on!" a disillusioned comrade said to me 
one day. "All the lessons of the war will 
be lost." 

They understand perfectly. Look at 
them. At the beginning of the campaign 
they showed a wonderful adaptability of 
spirit in the open fighting. As clever at 
unmasking and hunting out the Boches 
as at dressing a chicken, they compre- 
hended equally well the necessities and 
the resources of their soldier's craft. 
They utilized the ground just as if they 
had spent their youth in manoeuvring on it. 
They patrolled methodically, searching the 
villages and the houses without a mistake 
or an imprudence. They divined and com- 
pleted the thoughts of their officers. The 
only trouble with these lads is that they 
may wander and become scattered and thus 
be led into a blunder. But here each 
one considers the war as his own business. 

207 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

It IS necessary to be sharp oneself to retain 
the leadership in their midst. 

At the outset of the trench warfare there 
were no boyaux behind the lines, and in 
order to communicate with the rear, it was 
necessary to wait for evening and go back 
over the exposed fields. During the blackest 
nights, without a star to guide them, the 
"types" would find their way to their 
destination, almost all of them, by a direct 
route. Instinct did not guide them. Who- 
ever trusts to it ends by wandering around 
and around in the beet fields, and after 
having "kept the cows'' for several hours, 
arrives back at the place whence he started. 
No, they walked according to guides which 
have remained a mystery to me but which 
their intelligence had recognized and 
adopted. The fact remains that they arrived. 

In front of the trench they have pierced 
all the mysteries of the plain. They know 
where all the little posts are situated which 
one cannot see, the machine gun emplace- 
ments which reveal no turrets. To-day our 
trenches have been ravaged by torpedoes. 
Question any man and he will point to 
you the place from which they were sent 
and he will give you his reasons for thinking 

208 



INTELLIGENCE 

so. They know where the German batteries 
are hidden. When the shells whistle over 
our heads, these men can determine, not 
only their direction and the gun which has 
fired them but also the objective and, 
according to the noise they make, the 
calibre of the projectiles. No, those men 
are not stupid. 

However, their intelligence is misdirected; 
is has never been guided. Thejr would 
understand everything if only their knowl- 
edge matched their comprehension. That 
they do not know more is due to the un- 
worthy teachers who had enslaved them. 
The great vivacity of their spirits has 
helped to create this pitiful state of things. 
Their brains have been filled with social- 
istic theories at a time when they should 
have been nourished with the knowledge 
of sound moral principles. They have 
been so confused by sophistry that they no 
longer even recognize truth. The inevitable 
result has been that distrusting all move- 
ments relating to the public welfare, they 
withdrew into themselves and concentrated 
only upon the cultivation of their own sel- 
fish interests. Ignorance, slothfulness, and 
malignity ruled the land. Now this great 

209 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

people has been disillusioned. Of what 
value was it to them to have been born 
intelligent, to have been given that strength 
of spirit which can and ought to master 
everything, when unexpectedly called with- 
out any preparation to face great organized 
armies — provided with terrible weapons? 
If there had not been so rude an awakening 
many of our men would have found them- 
selves humble and helpless face to face 
with the tremendous German machinery. 
Thus, in life, the boor who lacks everything 
but the qualities of industry and obstinacy 
may gain the advantage over a man of 
stronger mind and impose upon him his 
will. A fool who works can intimidate an 
intelligent man who does nothing. Laziness 
and ignorance create stupidity, and even 
fine reasoning is of little avail against the 
blow of a club. 

We are dealing with an overrated people. 
The German is a good scholar. In com- 
petition with you French soldiers, he gets 
the first prize, but it is only because of your 
faults. Cease to play carelessly with your 
intelligence; utilize it instead of wasting it 
in conversation, and very soon you will be 
receiving the respect, praise, and admiration 

210 



INTELLIGENCE 

of the entire world. While certain people 
are still bowing before the Krupp factories, 
and thus debasing themselves, you can 
restore to France her glorious place of 
Queen of Nations, vacant since she re- 
linquished it. You alone have power to 
bring back harmony in that European con- 
cert, which to-day is so horribly discordant. 
An apparently clever musical director re- 
sided in Germany. He has shown his poor 
talent; let us take up the conductor's 
baton. 

When shall we realize that through our 
own folly we are wasting faculties which 
no other people possess.? We must re- 
store intellectual order in France. Our 
** types" are longing for truth, wisdom, and 
light. We will lead them in the paths of 
righteousness which they have forgotten. 

In our country there exist brains of suf- 
ficient intelligence to find, amidst the uni- 
versal confusion, paths which will be solid 
for the human feet. By them, if there but 
be true chiefs to point the way, the eager 
crowd can attain its full expansion and 
development. 



cii 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 



XII 
Jitters 

NEVER have the' French men and 
women written as many letters as 
now. In peace time, when our 
men were dragging through their slow 
years of military service sometimes two, 
sometimes three, as the case might be — 
they wrote to their parents but rarely, and 
then without enthusiasm. Their letters, 
written in big characters, consisted of two 
or three classic sentences: 

Dear Parents: I take my pen in hand to tell you 
that I am in good health and I hope this letter will 
find you the same. Will you be kind enough to send 
me three francs or even five? I cannot find more 
to say at present. I embrace you from this dis- 
tance. As always, your son. 

In the letters from men of the lower 
classes one continually finds certain sen- 

212 



LETTERS 

tenccs which enjoy a great popularity. A 
soldier, writing in 191 3 to the Minister of 
War, ended with these words: "Finding 
no more to say, I shake hands with you." 
They fail for want of vocabulary. As they 
are not accustomed to writing they become 
frightened when confronted by a sheet of 
white paper. To the people one meets, 
one says mechanically: "How are you? 
Very well, thank you." One says that even 
if one is quite ill. There is no link at all 
between that which people ought to^ say 
when they meet and the words which issue 
mechanically from their lips. Do not judge 
that which an uneducated man would like to 
write by the words which he puts on his 
paper. His ideas having fled he grasps 
at ready-made sentences. But why al- 
ways the same stereotyped phrases? All 
the people of France, for many years at 
least, have "taken the pen" have "hoped 
that this letter would find their dear par- 
ents the same" ; and finally have found no 
more to say and frankly admitted it. 

From father to son they have copied each 
other thus. Almost everyone copies some- 
one when writing. One of our men— a 
good old chap whom, on account of age, 
213 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

we had placed in the officers' kitchen for the 
sake of safety — left us recently. Under the 
pretext of having only men of the same age 
in a regiment, he was changed to a ter- 
ritorial regiment. Once there he lost his 
title as oldest man and became one of the 
crowd. His first letter filled us with re- 
gret. He wrote to an orderly: 

My dear Paul, I have the honour to inform you 
that I am busy digging in the boyaux. It is sad 
when one has been in the kitchens. There is noth- 
ing more to say to you for the moment. My com- 
pliments to the officers. Ever your friend. 

Poor fellow! Every day he had seen 
military notes beginning with the obligatory 
phrase: "I have the honour to inform 
you." He thought that it was very good," 
very dignified. He took pains in writing 
his letter and wanted to say whatever was 
correct. 

But if you write to these people and give 
them good models, they can also write 
pretty letters. 

The war has furnished the occasions. The 
godmothers are benevolent correspondents. 
Our men love these generous and kind- 
hearted women who always take the trouble 

214 



LETTERS 

to enclose well-written notes in the many- 
packages they send them. The men de- 
cipher, very seriously, the letters from their 
unknown benefactresses. All the words 
they find there are weighed, differentiated, 
and made much of. The sentiments of 
that far-away woman, or of that young 
girl whose writing is so refined, fall like a 
caress upon the good man; the affection- 
ate expressions shake his uncultured soul; 
he is moved, astonished. Is that the way 
one ought to write? Well, if it be pos- 
sible to let one's heart do the speaking 
and to put on the paper what one feels, it 
will be possible to answer the lady. Every- 
one tries his best and all the old awkward 
phrases are discarded for new ones which 
are used proudly, according to the example 
of the good marrainey 

Those unsophisticated writers are clumsy 
only because they are inexperienced. When 
you write to them. Dear Women, remember 
that you are teaching them a new art. They 
had never corresponded before — outside of 
business — with those whose education is 
finer. Now when they write, they talk, 
they express human sentiments. Their 
hearts open toward one another in a broth- 

215 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

erly manner, and an entirely unknown 
vocabulary comes rushing to their lips and 
permits their soul to blossom. 

When you write to our soldiers, fill your 
letters with this divine music. Have in 
mind that they will try to learn its notes 
faithfully, in order to charm their wives 
or fiancees and the old mother who will 
weep at hearing her boy speak to her so 
softly. Do not send sermons or long 
speeches; write simply. They will won- 
der at the fact that the heart of a great lady 
so nearly resembles that of a poor man, 
but they will also learn that the poor man 
can, in his turn, send his respects to the 
beautiful lady and his love to his betrothed 
in sentences almost alike. 

The other day in the firing trench I met 
a corporal whose talk usually amuses me. 
I was about to ask him to relate some of his 
stories when he gravely handed me a paper. 

"I received this letter from my old 
woman. Read it, sir." I noticed that his 
eyes were red. He added in a low voice, try- 
ing to conceal a sob. 

"They have killed my two brothers." 

" Killed your brothers ! Who ? " 

"TheBoches! Read." 

216 



LETTERS 

I unfolded the paper. It was already 
greasy and half torn at the folds from hav- 
ing been passed around, for the last two 
hours, among the members of the squad. 
Here is what I read: 

My Dear Child: 

I am very unhappy. Both your brothers, Georges 
and Auguste, have been executed. The Germans 
took them from the station to the Saint-Louis church 
with their hands tied behind their backs. My poor 
children knew that their last hour had come. They 
were forced to dig their own grave. Think, dear 
son, how they suffered during those minutes. They 
begged the Germans to free them but the brutes 
would not listen to them. You can imagine, my 
dear son, what a blow it has been for your mother 
to hear that the blood of her two defenceless chil- 
dren has been shed without their even having known 
the joy of being soldiers. 

I do not reproduce this document for the 
facts which it relates. We have all read, 
almost everywhere, such atrocious stories. 
Nor do I quote it for the sentiments ex- 
pressed. It matters little that she belongs 
to the humblest class. As a French woman, 
a mother, her feelings are the same as those 
of any woman. The point I make is that 
her pen found the right words to picture 

217 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

what she felt, to express the horror and the 
pity mingling in her soul. 

To free the people from their habitual 
grooves of thought it is necessary to give 
them new models, but what is of chief im- 
portance is to show them their inner selves. 
Almost never do they pause to contemplate 
themselves in life. Their sentiments, their 
thoughts, their actions are ordered by 
tradition, example, and habit. They de- 
velop unconsciously with the passing days. 
When it becomes necessary to speak or 
write, having no knowledge of their own 
resources, they are helpless and fall back 
on stereotyped phrases. 

They say to you: **Fine weather to- 
day." They write: "I hope this letter 
will find you the same." But teach them 
other words and you will see that they 
know how to use them, and if tragic events 
happen which force them to introspection, 
you will find that they are capable of 
observing, of thinking, and of writing 
letters which will bring the tears to your 
eyes. 

Since the second of August events after 
events of tragic importance have repeated 
themselves unceasingly. Millions of men 

218 



LETTERS 

in all the dugouts at the front are scribbling 
on sheets of paper: millions of women in 
all the homes of France are filling page 
after page. Each of them relates what he 
sees, describes his thoughts, and lets his 
heart overflow. 

These letters from the multitude are 
beautiful. I delight in them and I believe 
that they are beneficial, which is even 
better. They reveal both to those who 
receive them and those who write them 
things which are never expressed in con- 
versation. The lips, which at all hours 
of the day carelessly open to pour forth 
jokes or slang, would tremble before certain 
words which come from the bottom of the 
soul. Our "types" would recount horrors 
without wincing, but would blush to show the 
concealed beauty of their spirit. The prud- 
ishness of the soldier no more resembles 
that of the young girl than night resembles 
day; yet it exists and would conceal 
treasures from us if it were not for the 
letters. When our men write they feel as 
if they were whispering and that gives 
them courage. 

Many women have discovered in this 
manner since the war how much their old 
219 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

companions in misery still cherish them: 
husbands have had the revelation of the 
fervent and attentive love of their wives. 
They lived side by side, without speaking the 
words the heart needs : now they write them. 

Couples, separated for many months, 
are more united than ever. Not all of 
them. For in the great crisis nothing 
remains mediocre, neither vice nor virtue. 
And, while the happy unions become closer, 
the unhappy ones insensibly fall farther 
apart. We are living in a period of low de- 
bauchery on the one side and of high exal- 
tation of the homely virtues on the other. 

The women of France — like Roxane 
in "Cyrano de Bergerac" — decipher with 
surprise the wonderful notes which arrive 
from the front. They think: "He has 
never spoken to me like that before." It 
is an enchantment. Those whom the wives 
gravely address as "My dear husband" also 
marvel. Their eyes are open to a new life, 
soft and sentimental, whose existence they 
had not previously suspected. As they have 
leisure in the trench, they dream, after each 
mail, of the great joy of being loved. 

When the women of France think of their 
absent ones they express themselves in 

220 



LETTERS 

phrases which belong to eternity. One of 
them learns that her husband has had to 
leave the front for the hospital, with 
bronchitis. A comrade of her *man" has 
written her, taking pains to break the news 
gently. She answers: 

Monsieur: 

I received your letter two days ago. It caused 
me a very great emotion. My poor Charles is per- 
haps very ill and he will not want to tell me. I 
have not yet received word from him. He must stay 
in the hospital for a good month; then he can go to 
the depot and come and join me later, and I can 
render him the gentle care which he will desire. 
He must have grown much thinner, poor friend. 
Let us hope that God will listen to my prayer. 

I do not see anything more to add to-day. My 
little girl joins with me in thanking you and ia say- 
ing: good luck! 

(Signed) Une dame frangaisCy who wishes you 
much happiness and hopes to have the opportunity 
some day of meeting her husband's good comrade. 

She will render him the "gentle care which 
he will desire." What a pretty sentence! 
How could I have said that the simple 
people repeat only ready-made phrases. 
Here is a new one with a deep meaning. 
One renders what one owes: one renders 
devotion to God and honours to a sovereign 

221 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

and, this woman assures us, gentle care to 
one's husband. Madame de Sevigne could 
not have said it better. 

She signs herself " a dame of France." We 
usually smile when a person who wishes 
to appear cultivated introduces his wife as 
''dame" and his daughter as '' demoiselUy" 
whereas we merely introduce them as 
our wives and our daughters. I did not 
smile this time. Here at the front we are 
stopped at almost every cross-road by the 
sharp challenge of the guard: *'Qui vive?*' 
We like to answer in a clear voice : *' France." 
This woman does the same. I salute her 
for having ended her letter with such a 
serious note, ennobled by the naive way in 
which she uses it. 

Dear French women, write to us often! 
Your letters bring your presence to us. 
They say that the war has separated the 
men and the women, and yet the union of 
their hearts has never been closer. Our 
mothers, our wives, our sisters people our 
dreams, and this is the country of end- 
less dreams. You reign over us in our 
trenches and in our dugouts. You come 
even into our quarrels and you stop them 
with a pretty gesture. 

222 



LETTERS 

We once played a low trick on one of our 
first sergeants which he would never have 
forgiven if it had not been for a woman's 
letter. In October, 1914, a cow strayed into 
the field separating the German line from 
ours. It was coveted in both camps, both 
for its milk and its meat. One fine morn- 
ing there was no more cow. We thought 
the Boches had succeeded in capturing it. 
Six months later we advanced our lines. 
In a ravine, just midway between the 
enemy's trenches and our own, our men 
discovered a black mass. The beet-stalks 
were high and it was difficult to make it 
out, but the wind turned and carried toward 
us an awful odour. It was the dead cow, 
and not more than fifty yards away from 
the old German line. Our men swore 
against those dirty people who hadn't the 
courage to get rid of such a neighbour. 
Two days later we received the order to 
bury the animal, but during the intervening 
forty-eight hours we had much merriment. 

The sergeant-major shut himself up 
during the morning of the first day. He 
had a large wooden sign post, which the 
company had received for the purpose of 
marking the name of a boyau, and on it 

223 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

he was writing mysterious characters. 
When we asked questions he rolled his 
eyes like a conspirator and confided to us 
with a finger on his lips: 

"It is about the cow; you will see. Not 
a word to Julien." 

Here we designate our great friends by 
their Christian names. Julien was the first 
sergeant and a great comrade of the 
sergeant-major. 

After nightfall the latter disappeared 
with the placard under his arm. He came 
back without it, rubbing his hands together, 
laughing from ear to ear. He said: 

"The placard is on the cow, there will 
be some lun to-morrow." 

The next day, in fact, more than fulfilled 
his expectations. The first sergeant came 
running to our post, saluted the officer in 
command of the company, and said: 

"My Lieutenant, I must tell you myself 
that the Boches came up as far as the cow 
during the night, and planted a placard." 

"A placard?" 

"Yes, my Lieutenant, on the dead cow." 

He seemed indignant. He offered to go 
himself at night and take away the placard. 
We protected with hypocritical gestures. 

224 



LETTERS 

"It is dangerous, my friend/' 

"Dangerous as much as you like! We 
must see what they have written and 
answer them/' 

"Yes, but not you. Send a bonhomme. 
It is not the duty of the chief sergeant* 
That cow has a nasty smell/' 

"My Lieutenant, it stinks " 

"Then leave it." 

As he stood hesitating, I cunningly added: 

"Besides, you might get killed/' 

He is brave ; that made him sit up. 

"I am not afraid." 

Immediately his decision was made. At 
dusk he went out to the listening post and 
climbed up on the plain. He crawled under 
the netting of barbed wire, which was 
much less of an obstacle at that time 
than now, and advanced toward the 
animal. 

Have I told you that Julien is a butcher 
by trade? On the placard the sergeant- 
major had written these cruel words. 

Meat Market 

Julien S , Proprietor 

First Quality Meats 

3 francs the kilog. 

225 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

I omit the surname here but it was 
written to the last letter on the sign. 
Arriving near the cow, the deluded fellow 
pinched his nose, put out his hand, and 
got hold of the placard. While the Boches 
who had heard him were firing in all 
directions, he came back toward us hugging 
the board to his heart. 

He became very angry when he found 
that he had been made the subject of this 
joke. We were much to be blamed for we 
were the ones who had induced him to go 
after the sign, but he turned his anger 
against the sergeant-major. 

He began to look for the latter, having 
made up his mind, he told us, to give him 
a lesson. He had a violent temper and 
powerful fists, a combination which did not 
make us at all happy. 

But they were both married and re- 
ceived letters from their wives every day 
which they read side by side. In those 
letters one sentence often recurred: "I am 
glad you have such a good friend in the 
trenches." That evening as the first ser- 
geant entered the sergeant-major's dugout 
to carry out his threat, the man on duty 
handed them both their accustomed letters. 

226 



LETTERS 

They forgot all the rest, sat down im- 
mediately, and began to read. We arrived 
full of anxiety as to a possible tragedy and 
ready to interpose ourselves if necessary. 
We found them reading, but amidst a 
heavy silence which might be the fore- 
runner of a storm. They had four long 
pages each to read. The first sergeant 
finally folded his letter and glanced sidewise 
at the sergeant-major. The quartermaster 
whispered in my ear: 

"It is going to be terrible." 

We held our breath. The sergeant-major 
also finished and turned slowly toward his 
friend. In an humble voice, full of affec- 
tionate anxiety, he asked: 

''Good news?" 

"'Yes," tersely replied the other. 

''Just think," continued the sergeant 
with emotion, "my wife has sent me my 
little girl's last book of writing exercises." 

At that the first sergeant changed colour, 
looked at his adversary with envious eyes, 
and hitting the table with his fist, exclaimed : 

" That is perfectly wonderful ! Show it to 
me. 



227 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 



XIII 
Honour 

I NEVER punish my men," said an officer. 
" I am always severe with them/' said 
another, "the only way to control them 
is to threaten them with prison." 

They are both wrong, but in particular 
the second. At the front punishment must 
be administered only with great care. We 
live among the men and therefore possess 
a thousand means of influencing them. A 
chief who punishes too often thereby con- 
fesses his own helplessness. 

It is necessary to be severe sometimes; 
it is not a matter of choice but of conscience. 
One cannot say "I never punish"; but one 
can say: "I would like never to punish." 

A man, in my company, of rather gloomy 

disposition had developed the habit of 

always going off by himself on the last 

day of each period of rest and drinking 

228 



HONOUR 

heavily in some out-of-the-way inn. His 
family of five children lived in the invaded 
regions and he therefore could receive no 
news from them. Whenever the time came 
to go back to the trenches he would go off 
and drown his sorrows in this manner. 

One can afford a little leniency at times 
with the men who get drunk in cantonment. 
But one can never excuse their absence 
from roll-call when the time has come to 
return to the front and resume their fight- 
ing places. 

One evening this man, although missing 
from the ranks, was, by some complicity on 
the part of his comrades, reported as present. 
The company departed for the trenches 
without him and proceeded to relieve 
the troops we found there. Almost at 
once his squad was assigned, not for guard 
duty, but to do some hard fatigue work. 
Absent, he evaded it. His comrades knew 
it, but not his chiefs. 

It was very dark and I was walking 
through the hoyaux an hour later when 
I met a man who apparently was coming 
from the rear. 

**Good evening, old man!" 

"Good evening, sir." 

229 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Was it fate that made me turn and call 
to this man after he had passed me ? 

"Eh! Say over there r 

"Yes, sir." 

"Who are you?" 

"It is only me, my Lieutenant." 

They always answer like that at night. 
It is not very illuminating. I insisted. 

"Tell me your name." 

He gave me his name then, but his con- 
science not being very clear he began to 
make stumbling excuses. 

"I am a little late but I did not know the 
hour for assembly." 

He had given himself away. His fault 
was without excuse and I gave him four 
days of prison. 

You can readily conceive that here we 
do not confine the men in cells. Punishment 
consists first of humiliation. It is announced 
to his comrades in the Bulletin; it is written 
down in the man's military record; it will 
remain always as an indelible stain. But 
as some natures do not mind that kind of 
punishment, the high command has also 
ordered that the men serve their prison 
sentence by staying in the trenches when 
their comrades go back to the cantonment. 

230 



HONOUR 

So when we went to rest six days later, 
my man remained in the first Hne. He saw 
us go with considerable sadness. I also felt 
sorrow at leaving him there, but it was just. 

The next day a grenade killed him. 

Five orphans because I punished that 
man! I shiver to think of the distress of 
my soul if my conscience had not been so 
clear and secure. I felt that my^ action 
could withstand even my own criticism and 
that I could pray above that grave without 
remorse. 

People came from right and left and said 
needless words to comfort me. 

" It was written,'' said one. 

"You could not imagine that this would 
happen," said another. These words shocked 
me. I knew only too well that this tragedy 
had been brought about by my action, but I 
also felt that no one else had the right to de- 
clare me innocent. It was my conscience 
alone which could absolve me. 

It had done so. Yet I could not help 
thinking of the many acts we perform 
here without consideration of the^ ulti- 
mate consequences they may entail. If 
we punish in a moment of anger, or^ for 
revenge, or in order to shift a compromising 
231 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

responsibility from our own shoulders to 
those of some poor man, we totally ignore 
how far-reaching our fault may be. It 
may even become a crime without our being 
able to foresee it. At the war we are the 
masters of nothing but our conscience. 
Unhappy be they who do not guard theirs 
severely. The soldier's virtue must be 
above that of other men. It bears the 
beautiful name of Honour ! 

Let us to-night meditate on honour. To 
define the meaning of this great word let 
us take a very simple example in the every- 
day life of the armies at the front. 

For some time, at stated intervals, we 
have been given leave of absence of six 
days to spend with our families. This 
permission does not begin to count until the 
arrival at the station at one's destination, 
and is cancelled at the same place, exactly 
the six days later. The time wasted in slow 
trains or in round-about itineraries is not 
included. The men on leave have to take 
the military trains and are frequently gone 
for more than two weeks before getting back 
to the trenches. The officers are allowed 
to travel separately on the express trains 
and thus are able to return much sooner. 

232 



HONOUR 

No one can keep track of the train schedules 
or determine whether in a given case the 
time limit has been exceeded. 

There are three types of officers. The 
cautious ones are those who stay only four 
days with their family and arrive back at 
the front on the sixth day. The sly ones 
take nine days at home and when asked for 
an explanation, invent long stories about 
time tables and trains which confuse even 
the most intelligent of colonels. The third 
type is best represented by one of my friends. 
He stays the full, six times twenty-four 
hours, but travels both ways, going and 
coming, by the fastest trains. He satisfies 
in this manner, not only his sentimental 
obligations to his mother and family, but 
also his sacred duties toward his chief. I 
admire him. 

I know another who has a high concep- 
tion of his duty. He voluntarily left his 
wife and numerous small children to join 
the army. Yet he does not hesitate to 
cheat a little by overstaying his leave at 
home, and to thank the time tables for their 
vagueness. Although this little irregularity 
does not prevent him from being brave and 
anxious to serve well, the friend who is 

233 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

punctilious about his obligations is of 
greater worth. He is a man of honour. 

The difference between these two men 
depends upon a difference in their impulses. 
One responds only to the great duties, the 
less-important ones he does not see. He is 
impressed by the former in the same way 
that an artist is impressed by the great 
spectacles of Nature. He owes this liking 
for great ennobling obligations, doubtless 
as much to his education as to the primary 
qualities of his soul. But he remains a 
sinner destined for every weakness. He 
follows the right things for the love of them, 
and love is inconsistent. 

The other perhaps less brilliant will never 
fall. A man of honour is one who jeal- 
ously verifies all his actions himself. He 
knows only one judge and that is an im- 
placable one: His conscience. It rules 
him like a tyrant. He is, in his own fashion, 
an individualist, a man who is controlled 
by himself alone. We hear of conscien- 
tious citizens: there is an example of what 
they ought to be. 

I think that we can offer this new 
cult of honour to our own recently dis- 
illusioned individualists who wished to free 

234 



HONOUR 

the human soul but were betrayed by Lib- 
erty, to their own undoing. They wanted 
the free man to be the sovereign judge of 
right and wrong and to make his own laws. 
They erred because sovereignty is not the 
property of the individual but of human 
laws which are superior to us. They are 
not an expression of our will nor even of the 
general will; they spring from the nature of 
things and beings in spite of us. We do 
not dominate them; they dominate us. 
My reason has the power to search out and 
formulate these laws but not to make them. 
It can make mistakes in this research, but 
I do not call that a prerogative, it is an 
infirmity. 

Thus the wise man does not forge laws to 
suit himself, he adheres to the true ones. 
And when the devotion that he renders 
them is so fervent that his soul becomes 
jealous of his ability to recognize and obey 
them, this jealousy is called Honour. 

I am willing to become an individualist 
of that kind myself. Each man can enter- 
tain, at the bottom of his soul, a divine 
flame which shines for him alone and whose 
warmth he secretly enjoys. A virtuous 
being is one whose actions are straight- 

235 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

forward. The man of honour cultivates 
straight deaUng, not only in his acts, but 
even in his inmost thoughts and for his 
own particular satisfaction. His virtue is 
not higher but more certain. Proud and 
egotistical, Honour looks for its reward and 
finds it only in itself. In trying to exalt 
the supremacy of the individual we only 
succeeded in creating generations of destroy- 
ers. Let us create men of honour, and the 
individual, having become as noble as a 
God, will then deserve his own admiration. 

Military Honour consists in doing one's 
soldierly duty even until death. In that 
sense honour is a customary attribute of the 
French people. I do not know one com- 
rade, one man around me, who would not 
be ready at any tragic hour to give his blood 
immediately for the Motherland. 

But all are not equally apt at the little 
daily heroisms of which honour is woven. 
The young officer who threw himself first 
into the enemy's trench has fully merited 
his cross. He is a brave man. And this 
timid soldier whom I always meet in front 
of the parapet merely watching the enemy 
will not win a reward. It is logical that 
human honours go to the one who has 

236 



HONOUR 

rendered a signal service. The other one, 
however, has his share of merit and it is not 
the least. 

He has the joy of his conscience: a pleas- 
ure of rare quality. Or at least those who 
know how to rejoice in it are rare. The man 
I am thinking of has aroused my constant 
admiration. Always at his post, willing, 
obliging to his comrades, dignified before 
his chiefs, without shame dropping his rifle 
for the shovel, working well, fighting well, 
eating and sleeping well: a perfect soldier. 
He knows but one law — his duty; but one 
judge — his conscience. He is an upright 
man. We have spoken much of our demo- 
cratic pride, so low, so shabby. It con- 
sists in refusing to accept any order or any 
restraint. The enemy of all superiority, 
it detests all that is noble and delights in a 
stupid equality. True pride resembles it 
but little. It is the pride of the independ- 
ent soul and the enemy of degrading yokes. 
It undertakes with tenacity and pride all 
duties, the obscure ones as well as the 
brilliant ones. 

After the war those who will have sur- 
vived the wild struggles for which we have 
been preparing ourselves during the last 

237 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

year of war will become the apostles of 
honour. Here we have seen too clearly the 
superiority of those possessing severe and 
jealous consciences not to have understood 
that the greatness of man lies entirely in the 
strength of his soul. 

Doubtless the French will organize them- 
selves as the Germans have done. But 
they will never become vile slaves — for each 
man, free, strong, and brave^ will put his 
pride in censuring himself. It is natural 
that Honour should once more become a 
national virtue in the country of so many 
struggles for independent ideas. 



238 



THE MOTHERLAND 



XIV 

I'he <J<(Cotherland 

HERE is a man on guard in the 
trenches. He is watching vigi- 
lantly and his expression is one of ha- 
tred as he holds his eyes fixed on the enemy 
line. I approach him and tap his shoulder. 

"What are you doing there?*' 

"I am on watch, my Lieutenant," 

"But what else?" 

" I keep my eye on the Boches." 

"And what is behind your back?" 

"Our sleeping comrades." 

"Yes, but behind them?" 

"The beet fields." 

"And farther behind?" 

"Well, I don't know." 

I looked into his eyes; they are empty of 
thought. The good man would very much 
like to make a suitable reply, but where is he 
to find it? Let us help him. 

239 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

"Why, thoughtless fellow, there Is 
France." 

"It is true, I hadn't thought of that/' 

Why should he think of it? Ever since 
childhood he has heard nothing but that all 
men are brothers, that frontiers no longer 
exist and that the idea of a Motherland is 
a wicked invention of tyrants and capital- 
ists. Patriotism survived only in the soil 
and in tradition. The French are linked 
together at present by virtue of the war; 
the common trial. But to know and love 
France, the Motherland, one must have 
either lived close to her soil or studied her 
history. This man works and lives in the 
city; he has not had the opportunity to 
develop a deep attachment for a field, or a 
meadow, or an old familiar brook. The 
books which have been given him to read 
have only taught him errors. 

If I put the same question to a peasant 
he will be no whit more eloquent. The 
little motherlands which each village used 
to constitute have been at least spoiled, if 
not entirely destroyed. The mere fact of 
having spent one's days, happy or dreary 
alike, on a certain patch of land is not alone 
sufficient to make one recognize in it the 

240 



THE MOTHERLAND 

Motherland. The ground must also have 
been peopled with the images of the dead 
ancestors who have formerly owned it one 
after the other; who have done the same 
things at the same seasons — sung and 
danced on big feast days, prayed in the 
same church still standing, and lived the 
same simple life, rich in remembrances and 
promise — as the present owner. The peas- 
ant who keeps these traditions is bound to 
be patriotic, if not to his thirty-nine millions 
of living brothers, at least to his fathers. 
He will love France, if not for its present 
strength and size, at least for its past. Not 
being educated, but knowing more the 
history of his country that its geography, 
he will be capable of dying on the battle- 
field, and of telling you why he is willing to 
make that sacrifice. 

Formerly in the countryside there were 
additional influences at work to broaden 
the views of the agriculturists and to show 
them the glory of their Motherland. The 
grandmothers told stories of heroes; the 
priest gathered his parishioners around him 
to sing ''Te Deums" in honour of the 
king's victories; the lord of the Manor 
and his followers, when they came back 

241 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

from national wars, brought the echoes 
with them. Thus, Joan of Arc when but 
a child, was able to conceive the idea of 
France, the nation, although living in the 
little out-of-the-way village of Domremy, 
yet in those days, with no telegraph, 
next to no post, no railways, and practically 
no roads, France was a far more distant 
empire to this peasant girl than the whole 
universe to a man of the twentieth century. 

To-day our natal soil has lost much of 
Its virtue. The songs of long ago are 
forgotten and peasant and shepherdess re- 
peat only the refrains of the music halls. 
They no longer go to church. The old 
women are silent and no longer recognize 
in their city-bred children the reflection of 
their own image. Instead of revering the 
dead this new generation looks down on 
them from a lofty height with pity for 
their ignorance. The young men dance 
nothing but the waltz, the cake-walk, and 
the Argentine tango. 

I am wrong. Four of our men from 
the neighbourhood of Saint-Flour still know 
the ^'bourree*. They often dance, or rather 
'*jump" it for our entertainment at the 



*French peasant dance from the province of Auvergne. 
242 



THE MOTHERLAND 

cantonment. We never tire of watching the 
mincing manners of these bearded moun- 
taineers. They pound their muddy feet on 
the ground, bow to their partners, seize 
them by the waist, back, and whirl, all 
with the same happy smile and to the 
plaintive music of an accordion. These four 
men have brought the whole of their old Au- 
vergne country among us with their dance. 

Only a certain provincial patriotism has 
survived among the people from the rural 
districts. It is narrow and exclusive but, 
nevertheless, it does not offend me. Since 
the beginning of the war our soldiers have 
wandered everywhere. Men mobilized from 
the farming regions of the North, who were 
sent through the '*Vienne" valley, so 
beautiful between Limoges and Angouleme, 
could scarcely hide their contempt for 
ground where only grass and trees are able 
to grow. 

** Don't they have any wheat around 
here?" they asked. 

The men from the centre of France, 
accustomed to the fresh valleys, pretty 
meadows, and groves of chestnut trees, were 
amazed at seeing the rich but monotonous 
plains of Picardy and Artois. 

243 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

To fortify and strengthen the frail love that 
each of these men bears to his own corner 
of the earth it would have been enough to 
teach them the grandeur of the common 
Motherland. 

The war is a splendid opportunity for 
doing this very thing. Instead the news- 
papers tell them that they are fighting for 
the civilization and liberty of the world. 
Nobody among the popular writers thinks 
of singing the praises of our Motherland, or 
claiming that it is for her sake that all 
this fine blood is being shed. 

They read, just as I do, sentences of this 
kind in the morning newspapers: ^*We are 
not fighting for ourselves, it is for the 
world and the future. What are a few 
months of war in comparison with the fifty 
or a hundred years of prosperity and peace 
which we are preparing? Let our arms 
triumph and the whole earth will be at 
rest." 

Thus it is not for our own sakes that we 
are fighting, and the blood which we have 
shed, the ruined villages, the horrible suffer- 
ing, the devastation, and the mourning in 
France are for the happiness of the human 
race! Some misguided French people dare 
244 



THE MOTHERLAND 

to write, although they do not even know 
how to think. They do not reahze that 
they have a Motherland. They see only 
vague forms in the clouds, when right in 
front of their eyes is living the most ani- 
mated, saintly, and tragic of figures; this 
France, the inheritance of a hundred gene- 
rations of ancestors; where we have been 
born, where we draw our breath and which 
we will leave to our sons, as sweet as she was 
when we first looked on her. 

There are a few of us who do not wish 
any one to alter our language, our old 
customs, our cherished habits, our soil, our 
houses . We have good qualities and faults : let 
us keep them! The Germans may cultivate 
their virtues and their vices at home but 
they must not overflow on us. To each 
man his Motherland. We are fighting for 
ours. 

No doubt this atrocious war will still be 
long and always more cruel. What shall 
we do when it is finished? The dreamers 
say that peace will bring universal dis- 
armament. I, who dream of my hearthside 
and of my children, do not speak in this 
manner. After the war I hope that we will 
surround France with such safeguards as 

24S 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

will protect her for all time. We will not 
be the only ones to profit by the victory. 
Both in a business sense and in self- 
development, other nations, perhaps more 
than ours, will find themselves the gainers 
by the peace which they will have helped 
to purchase so dearly. (Dwing to a fatal law, 
strong peoples in both hemispheres may 
become a menace to their less-vigorous 
neighbours. God keep us then from being 
among the worn-out nations ! 

The war over, we shall be condemned to 
continue the cultivation of our muscles. We 
are going to win in spite of our great weak- 
ness which might have cost us defeat. May 
the victory restore to us the liking for 
physical strength. I am unable to think of 
the whole of humanity, but of France alone, 
while French blood is flowing. I am not 
tempted to betray our dead, nor to ruin 
the cause for which they are dying by 
thousands. They fall to save the Mother- 
land. If I survive the slaughter yet to 
come, I will consecrate all the days that 
God will give me to the safeguarding of 
this sacred Motherland. After that is 
done, if I have five minutes to spare, I will 
busy myself with the human race. 
246 



THE MOTHERLAND 

Our soldiers are wholeheartedly striving 
to perform the new duty which has con- 
fronted them. They hold, their posts, some 
of them without comprehending, the others 
only half understanding. An interior force 
upholds them, just as faith proves the ex- 
istence of God. Their patriotic instinct 
renders to the sovereignty of their race a 
touching homage. 

These simple men, who hardly know why 
they are here, and those dupes who are 
fighting only for empty words, give way to 
the ascendency of a third class of French 
people: those who know and love the 
Motherland. 

For there are some men who have neither 
fallen into ignorance nor fatal errors. 
While the demagogues preached the social 
war they prepared their souls in silence 
for the national war. The men in power 
busied themselves with the happiness of 
humanity: they were thinking of French 
prosperity. The army was being disor- 
ganized: they regarded it as a defense of 
last resort. These men of deep wisdom 
seldom appeared in public: they lived in 
their homes. The family is the first Mother- 
land. Who loves one serves the other. 

247 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

We have in France quantities of noble 
families, poor and rich alike, who have 
given their best blood to the country. 
From them came the group of splendid 
youths who, at the first call, hurried to form 
the front line; thus the best went toward 
death with exaltation to save the others. 

Each time I search for a typical French 
family, my thoughts obstinately revert to 
certain homes at Lille where my childhood 
days were spent. How many young men in 
the spring of robust youth are gone, never 
more to animate the streets and the houses 
of my old city? Behind that curtain of 
frail trees which shuts off our horizon in the 
rear of the enemy's trenches lies a rich and 
noble part of France, where crying widows 
and mothers still wait for those who will 
never come back. 

It was there that I learned to know my 
Motherland. I am not from Lille by birth, 
but all the first years of my studies were 
spent there and I have made precious 
friendships in that city. My country is 
not the French Flanders where I have lived, 
nor the Ile-de-France where I was born. 
I belong to the whole of France, but it was 
at Lille that I first learned it. Because I 

248 



THE MOTHERLAND 

grew up with all my comrades in the midst 
of fervent national traditions, I have neither 
difficulty nor merit in serving to-day. I 
wish the same ardent devotion could be 
put in every French soul. One does not 
fight better, but with more love. 

My love for the Motherland increased 
the day I learned that the enemy had pro- 
faned Lille with his presence. It horrifies 
me to-day to think that the Prussians are 
patrolling in the streets where I walked 
when I was a child. They camp in the 
Citadelle where I began my classes and won 
my first military honours. Germans are 
now sleeping in the barracks where I en- 
joyed my wonderful youthful slumbers. 
Will a rifle wake them up to-morrow.? 
What will the echoes of the Bois de la 
Deule say — or those of the Bois de Bou- 
logne? Let the booted Hessians strike 
their heels on the hard pavements of Lille ; 
that land can never belong to them. 

My watchman, the one who keeps his 
eyes on the Bodies with an expression of 
anger, does not think of so many things. 
Yet he is brave and would make a good 
patriot if he had only been taught how. 
Some day I will go and sit with him in a 

249 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

corner of the trench and I will teach him 
gently how to cherish France. 

What models will I place before him ? I 
will choose from among those whom the war 
has already taken from us. The young 
poet Gauthier Ferrieres died a few days ago 
at the Dardanelles. Is it possible that the 
image of a poet can influence this uncul- 
tured man? Why not? It is a time for 
war songs and for magnificent dreams. I 
was greatly attached to Ferrieres, who was 
a delightful man and a fervent patriot. 
On some things we thought and reasoned 
differently, but as soon as it was a question 
of France, we were agreed. He admired 
all our great men with a very personal, a 
very ardent, and a very jealous love. He 
was at one time furiously angry with Jules 
Lemaitre because he had criticized Cha- 
teaubriand. He would not permit anyone 
to speak of Racine except to glorify him. 
He knew familiarly all the campaigns of the 
Emperor and liked to talk about them. I 
shall always remember the expression of his 
face when, in my study, he would recite to 
me the speeches of his hero. He spoke 
with the same pride of the Roi Soleil 
and knew the merits of the treaties of 

250 



THE MOTHERLAND 

Westphalia as thoroughly as any of the 
contemporary historians. Love gave to 
this dreamer the foresight of a prophet as 
soon as France was in question. Alas! 
He was mistaken only in thinking that he 
would be with us when we again entered 
Alsace 

Oui, quand s'eteindront les fournaises, 

Apres les glorieux combats. 
C'est avec les couleurs fran^aises 

Que nous retournerons la-bas. 

Alors du Rhin jusqu' a la Meurthe 

On pourra rire et rire encore*. . . , . 

The bursting of a Turkish shell decreed 
that this handsome son of France shall 
never march on the road to Strassburg 
and sing his joy in song. However, by 
grace of Heaven, he died a hero, in an his- 
toric land, on one of those Oriental shores 
whose colours and antique glory always 
enchanted his Muse. 



*"When after glorious combats, 
The fires are at last extinguished, 

With the French colours flying 
We will return to Alsace 

**Then, from the Rhine to the Meurthe, 
Smiles and laughter will reign'* 

251 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Let us fashion our souls after his. We 
must be ourselves jealous lovers of the 
Motherland, in order to instruct those 
ignorant people who either have forgotten 
the name of their country, or who render 
their devotion only to high-sounding, hu- 
manitarian words. We need not blush if our 
passion is exclusively for her; we are in 
good company. The enemy himself teaches 
us that lesson. 

To give material for our own meditations 
and an object lesson for conversation with 
the men, we have been handed the text of 
a long letter found on a prisoner. I remem- 
ber a striking passage from it. The Ger- 
man was trying to prove to his correspon- 
dent that his country, not being able to 
do better, will at least arrive at an honour- 
able peace — a white peace. 

He goes on in substance: 

On what do I found this conviction? First of all, 
on our patriotism, on our sense of discipline, on our 
genius for organization and, above all, on the in- 
capacity for organization of our adversaries. 

Ah! If they could unite their resources with our 
qualities of method and of initiative, we should 
certainly be lost. I shiver at the thought of what 
we would do in their place, of what would menace 

252 



THE MOTHERLAND 

US if they knew how to utilize their power. Our 
backs would be broken! 

In order to break their backs, as he calls 
it, it is only necessary to do certain things : 
discipline our forces, but above all learn 
to know our enemy. If we knew our 
power we would not allow it to be wasted. 

Let us terminate these pages by together 
looking at our country with loving eyes: 
it is a good pastime in the trenches. 

It is five o'clock, my comrades are play- 
ing bridge at the bottom of a cave, and I am 
reading beside them. The line has been 
calm this afternoon and there has been 
neither bombardment nor shooting on 
either side. Suddenly there comes a fusil- 
lade which brings us out of our dugout. 
The German bullets clip the parapet with a 
wailing sound. Our rifles crackle in return. 
What is going on? Some of the men lift 
their heads and with a grimace look at the 
sky. Up there an enemy airplane is flying 
above our trenches. All eyes and weapons 
are fixed on it. The watchmen opposite are 
firing at our earthworks in order to divert 
our attention and take our shots away from 
their comrade. Much noise and stirring 
about, all for a nasty bird of prey which 

253 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

one can scarcely distinguish in the sky and 
whose buzz is so distant that it sounds Hke a 
mosquito. Now the artillery begins to roar. 

The shells ascend with a shrill whistle 
and burst about the Taube in a number of 
tiny white clouds like tampons of cotton 
wool. 

"Too short!" 

"He can get past!'* 

"He won't get past!" 

The German proceeds cautiously, the 
centre of noise and shrapnel. An exciting 
chase, but it is seldom that the object of 
these menaces and imprecations is hit. 
However, it is possible to bar his route with 
more or less success and when he is turned 
back a point is scored on our side. 

These aerial dramas take place usually in 
the early morning hours or just before our 
evening meal. We have seen the Germans 
waste more than two hundred shells in a 
few minutes on some of our airplanes. Our 
hearts beat fast when one of our daring pilots 
goes straight for their lines and disappears 
into the horizon. They storm at him with 
their machine guns and heavy artillery and 
we laugh with joy when we think of those 
Frenchmen looking down at them and snap- 

254 



THE MOTHERLAND 

ping their fingers while they empty their 
munition box. 

And it is an invention of ours, this 
marvellous little thing at sight of which our 
souls grow humble with admiration. It is 
now nearly a year that we have been break- 
ing our necks in trying to follow the course of 
the same miracle through the air and yet we 
have not grown weary. At first the enemy 
airplanes provoked us. They seemed to 
have usurped one of our own particular 
glories in planing above our heads. We 
know now that we are stil) the masters of the 
air. They have numerous and well-made 
machines and a wonderful organization; as 
they are always quick to adapt and perfect 
the ideas of others. The genius remains 
with us. 

At Hebuterne a French pilot took part 
in the attack on the enemy trenches. He 
came down to within fifty yards of the 
earth, spitting fire into the boyaux with his 
machine gun, flew up and plunged once 
more, sowing death among our enemy and 
intoxicating our men with enthusiasm. 
Patriotism has been lulled to sleep by the 
words of the humanitarian philosophers. 
That day I saw it suddenly flame in the eyes 

255 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

of the men just as the blood rises up under 
the skin in moments of great emotion. 
When, following one of these aerial battles, 
our old soldiers, their muscles stiff but their 
souls exalted, let their eyes fall to the sad 
earth of the trenches, they regard each 
other silently, but what a light glows from 
behind their dusty lashes. It is the joy of 
being French that shines in them; at that 
instant it would be easy with a few well- 
chosen words to move them to tears. They 
go back to their shelters with their slow, 
accustomed tread, but that night they 
sleep with peace in their hearts and the kiss 
of France upon their foreheads. 

The Germans say they are masters in 
the art of war. Yet they are, in reality, as 
much our pupils in this domain as they are 
in most others. Their chemists, whose 
praises all are singing, have invented neither 
the smokeless powder nor the melinite. 
Those redoubtable rifles and high-velocity 
projectiles which have revolutionized the 
methods of fighting were possessed b}^ us 
before they were by them. Their Emperor 
as he went to war said with pride : 

"I shall be victorious because I have my 



cannon.'^ 



256 



THE MOTHERLAND 

We also have ours, that wonderful 75 
which has been the admiration of all the 
soldiers of the world. This terrible weapon 
can never be praised too much. The ene- 
my's heavy artillery found us unprepared 
at the beginning, but it was French fore- 
sight, not French genius, which was then 
at fault. It would be easy to point to the 
victories of our great past in the same way 
that the present Greeks content them- 
selves with the ancient victories of Salamus 
and Marathon. Thank goodness we have 
more recent proofs of the strategic sound- 
ness of French brains; the lieutenants of 
WiUiam II found their master on the Marne 
and on the Yser. 

It is the same upon the sea, no matter 
what one may think. If it be true that 
the English, when they attack, massacre 
the enemy and refuse him quarter, crying 
"Lusitania! Lusitania!" I confess I find 
no strength to blame them, for the Germans 
are pirates. At one time the world had a 
right to tremble before the prowess of the 
German flotillas; we might fear that the 
powerful fleets of England and her allies 
would be forced to relinquish the mastery 
of the seas to the small underwater boats. 

257 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

Experience has shown that in spite of the 
sting of an insect which pricks here and 
there and downs a few Hons, the laws of 
Nature do not change: the Hon remains 
king. Just the same we must admire those 
wonderful instruments which French genius 
has invented. If someone tells you to see 
in them the evidence of German ingenuity, 
then remember our Goubet, dying in pov- 
erty after having invented the first sub- 
marine, and our Gustave Zede, builder of 
the first submersible. 

'*Then have we created for the benefit of 
others?" 

"Perhaps." 

*'And plucked the chestnuts out of the 
fire?" 

"Doubtless." 

"It is a proof, one more proof, that we 
are not well organized. Who denies it?" 

But that also proves that we can love, 
cherish, and venerate with pride and devo- 
tion our Motherland as the most beautiful 
sovereign. Let us love and serve her not 
with words but with acts. We have talked 
much during the last fifty years : the 
reign of eloquence is over. A patient, 
courageous, persevering effort will restore 
258 



THE MOTHERLAND 

to us the place which we ought to occupy 
at the head of the nations. Babblers, 
dreamers — let us rather call them by their 
true name, traitors to their country — had 
promised to the people a lazy existence, 
free from suffering, disappointment, and 
conflicts. It is important for France to 
understand at this time when all her sons 
are facing death, once and for all, the 
treachery of these promises. This nation 
is now strong and wise enough to listen to 
the truth. 

Let us teach our children to taste the 
life-giving flavour of accomplished duty. 
Let us savour it ourselves. Let us under- 
stand that peace will not be eternal. It is 
possible that the various peoples of the 
universe will extend to us their friendship 
after the victory. Let us hope for it with- 
out discounting it. It is not enough to be 
loved for the arts in which we excel and 
praised for our good name and the bravery 
of our armies. When the larger task 
is accomplished let us not hesitate before 
the more humble, but equally beautiful, 
effort of hard and monotonous daily labour. 
French intelligence and French strength have 
once more found proof of their existence 
259 



COMRADES IN COURAGE 

and of their worth. It had been denied 
that we still remained what we once were. 
We now know, in company with the entire 
world, that the blood of our fathers, the 
kings of Europe and of the world by 
virtue of their manly qualities and genius, 
still runs in our veins. We must not 
content our pride with this alone, but let us 
resolve to demonstrate the same valiantness 
in peace as we have shown in war. On 
that condition alone will we give back to 
France and to ourselves that liberty so 
madly invoked in the last century and yet 
always betrayed. 

Thus French glory can illuminate the 
world if we only wish it. We must entertain 
this thought in our hearts and proclaim it 
all about us. It is our only true comfort at 
such a time as this and, if we wish to avoid 
falling back into our former errors after the 
war, it must be our chief reliance. 

Why are we fighting? Solely to retain 
mastery of our own genius, to draw from 
it noble joys and just profits when we have 
once more become wise. 

December, 1914 — August, 1915 

THE END 




THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 




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